Ta Tu Alainn
by Psykiapa
Summary: AU; Harry starts his fifth year with the happy thought of returning to Howarts, but when he gets there his world is turned so far upside-down that he doesn't know if that will remain a constant anymore. He gains new knowledge of himself and heritage.
1. Default Chapter

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story does include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
  
  
  
Ta Tu Alainn  
  
Chapter One:  
  
Harry Drops a Bombshell on the Wizard World  
  
Harry twiddled with a thread that had come undone from his robes. They no longer really fit him, and no one had taken it to account that they hung loosely upon his small, lithe frame. The year had been hectic, secretive, and, above all, stressful for the boy sitting in the empty Transfiguration classroom. McGonagall had gone to explain another detention to the Headmaster, and had said she'd be back shortly. Her absence only made Harry less comfortable, and more fidgety. It had not been he, after all, who called the meeting.  
  
Harry glanced at the door, lost in nervous thought. At least Ron and Hermione cared enough for him that he knew they wouldn't be angry. They may be glad it was out in the open. Whatever reaction, Harry just hoped they wouldn't be freaked out. He knew Hermione would try to remain compassionate, and understanding, but that sometimes she couldn't help but make a joke at what he was. They were worried when he had stopped coming to meals, and they got desperate when he couldn't sleep. Hermione had been more perceptive than Ron, and had noticed right away when he immersed himself so completely in his studies. She also was careful of the fact that he made rather random mistakes, like sitting at the Hufflepuff table and going on to Justin Finch-Fletchly for an entire minute before looking up and realizing it wasn't Ron. So they had gone to McGonagall. Part of Harry was relieved; part of him was a bit annoyed. After all, now he would have an adult's advice, and could move on with that part of his life. He wouldn't have to plan it all himself.  
  
McGonagall came in, all in a huff because she had finally had to give Fred and George a detention for fooling around in her class. She looked a bit confused as to why Harry was there, so he reminded her.  
  
"You asked to see me, Professor?"  
  
"Ah, yes, that matter." She paused for a bit, trying to think how to explain it to him. Harry also sensed this.  
  
"Ron and Hermione wanted me to see you." Harry gently prodded.  
  
"Ah, yes, thank you, Potter." McGonagall sat down slowly. "They are really concerned for your health. Allow me to be frank: you don't look good. Neither of them thinks they could ever really guess what was wrong, other than You-Know-Who's return, but you weren't like this during the summer, so they don't think its that. Do you have anything you want to tell me?"  
  
"Erm, I still don't really know what to tell you. You'll be the first one to know . . . " McGonagall allowed him some thinking space. "God, you never hear about how to tell someone something like this." There was another pause after Harry had smirked at the irony a little. "I'm . . . gay."  
  
There was an awkward silence. Harry was starting to shiver uncontrollably, trembling with the fear that, just maybe, McGonagall wouldn't understand. In turn, the woman sitting across from him scrutinized the best student (apart from Hermione, of course) in the school. Only Harry was able to take all three years worth of training in the span of one hard, grueling year and still excel. She couldn't begin to think how much of a disaster this would be to the wizard world. Yet another promising wizard family would be wiped out, his blood would not be passed on. And, as he was famous, this would create a problem, because homophobic wizards would target him for harassment, and prejudice. She noticed how the boy was getting exceedingly uncomfortable, and was just trying to think of what to say to that when he broke the awkward silence.  
  
"Do you hate me now?" He asked timidly, much like a four-year-old boy asks of his mother after he breaks her favorite vase.  
  
"Of course not! I'm a little shocked, I must say, but I really think you are making a big mistake-"  
  
"What do you mean, mistake?" Harry probed.  
  
"Well, didn't you choose to be . . . "  
  
"You can't help who you love. I didn't choose to be gay, it just, sort of, happened." Harry explained, taken aback by his professor's response.  
  
There was another awkward silence, and McGonagall broke it this time.  
  
"You need to get this out in the open. Hiding it is putting more stress upon you than is really necessary. I know there will be people who won't accept it, but you can teach them. Who knows? Maybe you will be the wizard who makes it 'normal.'"  
  
"But how? How do I tell them?"  
  
"Just sit them down in a quiet place and tell them calmly. Granger would understand, and Weasley, well, he'd try, then grow to truly understand you. The whole school would know, you know how information travels here. But remember this, as long as teachers are around, the students can't hurt you."  
  
"What about Snape?"  
  
"Let's just say that if I give a talking-to to him, he won't give you much trouble on the matter."  
  
"Thank you, professor." Harry said, smiling shakily and ending the conference.  
  
McGonagall watched quietly as the star student got up and gracefully made his way to the door. She stared after him, apprehensive about what his friends might do when they knew. She knew that there wasn't a chance that things would go as lightly as she had made them sound; Harry had needed comforting, and she wasn't going to create more angst than he had already experienced. It was important that this was the year he would keep his wits about him. He would finish all the rest of the years, and travel the next as a spy and messenger to the elves.  
  
* * *  
  
Meanwhile, in another part of the castle, a riddle was being solved. A riddle of heritage, and questions. You see, when Harry had survived Voldemort 14 years ago, they had never given the full picture a thought. All they had registered was that a boy had survived the most powerful wizard in a century, and left it at that. There was no question as to why he had been targeted, or how the Dark Lord had found out where the Potters lived. They automatically accused Sirius Black and that was that. And they had never given a second thought to who the parents of the miracle were. They had made a huge mistake, and Professor Trelawney was determined to figure out what it had taken to provoke the Dark Lord to attack James and Harry.  
  
No matter what the students and Professor McGonagall believed, Sybil was actually a very smart woman (not as smart as Minerva, however, but somewhat smart all the same), and she had indeed had two premonitions. As a two-time seer, she had been correct both times, and had a knack for knowing when something was wrong. That is, she didn't always have to know right away, sometimes it took years, but she'd eventually figure it out. And now she was absolutely positive there was something amiss with James Potter.  
  
James hadn't started school at Hogwarts. Oh, no, he had lived somewhere else before. Rumor had once had it that he had been a resident of Beauxbatons, but had moved to the British Isles once his parents died. He had joined in third year. The school had stared, and then he had found his place with Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew. Everything seemed normal to the other students, but soon, it was revealed to the teachers that Lily and James had wanted to be trained in the field of the Unspeakables. Hogwarts had a program that allowed select teachers to teach students in a profession if the students so wished, and Dumbledore himself taught Lily and James to think, act, perform, spy, and deceive like the Death Eaters themselves. They were also taught swordplay, archery, and how to swing an axe to their best advantage.  
  
It was soon obvious that the two would be the best Unspeakables the wizard world would ever see. The others were all either dead or already on missions when Lily and James were called into action. They would have succeeded in killing Voldemort at that time, but Lily had found she was pregnant with Harry. She was 17; James had just turned 18. They were called out of action, but still had to hide their marriage and their son from both being smothered and cut short. Lily had prevailed in one thing, and that was saving her son, as Dumbledore had explained to Professor Trelawney, but all knew that wasn't the only reason.  
  
Sybil had only been to one Death Eater trial, but had once heard that the beautiful Lily needn't have died. Apparently, Voldemort hadn't known she was an Unspeakable. Either that, or there had been another reason that Voldemort wanted Harry and his father dead. Or the Death Eater was crazy.  
  
Sybil was, at the moment, in the process of writing a letter to Beauxbatons asking if the famous Harry Potter's father had at one time resided in their walls. It was one of the first steps to actually figuring out about the questions surrounding the Boy Who Had Willingly Pulled Out Of Her Class.  
  
* * *  
  
Hogwarts' most noticeable couple were presently acting very worried about their best friend. In fact, so worried, that they weren't snogging.  
  
"Ron, do you think it was anything that we did?" Hermione antagonized.  
  
"Hermione, calm down, you've already asked me this question, and my answer was that it would be highly doubtful. It's not like Harry stopped talking to us. It's not like he acts irritated with us whenever we speak to him. It has got to be something about the stress level of this year. You know how hard he's working. I just hope it doesn't have something to do with You- Know-Who."  
  
"Well," It was Hermione's turn to be the comforter; "he has been having the nightmares nearly every night. But he has said repeatedly that it isn't the reason. When has he ever lied to us? Besides, if it were You-Know-Who, he'd be so scared that he would tell us. It has to be something unexpected."  
  
"I think he really needs a girlfriend. If he did, she could distract him." Ron muttered.  
  
"Like I distract you?" Asked Hermione coyly.  
  
"Well, yes, but not on the first date. Of course, he would never be able to be the same gentleman as me, but that's beside the point."  
  
"My, aren't we getting a little arrogant." Hermione scolded.  
  
Just as they started to kiss, the portrait swung open and Harry walked in, shivering and taking off his knit jacket. He stared for a moment at the happy couple, then cleared his throat loudly and took off his scarf.  
  
"I just knew you two couldn't keep your hands off each other for a minute." Harry laughed.  
  
"So, how'd it go with McGonagall?" Hermione queried, as Ron was blushing red and a bit too embarrassed to ask himself.  
  
"She was a very big help. Just what I needed, along with a nice, long walk. Do you two want to go out to Hogsmeade together later today? I have to explain myself." Harry smiled at them as he went into the next room.  
  
"Did you just hear that? Is that the same Harry that left, or has he been abducted by aliens?" Ron asked, eyes wide and mouth hanging.  
  
They stared in silence for a while, then went back to what they had been doing before Harry left; homework. Eventually, Harry returned with a load of books on Charms. Apparently, he had dropped by the library before taking his 'long walk.'  
  
* * *  
  
Voldemort stared at them with his Eye of Ire. All the eleven. They were all there. They frightened him. They were the ones who could overthrow him by one careless mistake. Their long cloaks were billowing behind them in a sea of multiple colors. They rode without tire, they rode without care; they rode without a horse. They rode with the wind as their prized steed. Granted, some of them had great white, ugly horses, but that was only because they were able to pillage the small villages which had army camps and steal the prized packs of rot and ride them to the core. Riding. Always riding. Never stopping. That was what they chose in life, and that was what they wanted. Nobody stood in their way. The aura they kept up while swiftly covering the ground was enough to scare one. Not only scare, but chill their bones. When they stopped, the great heart of the world got nervous, and nervous, and it progressed until the heart was actually what you could hear. Yes! You could hear it beating faster, and faster, and faster still, until it finally just stopped from overwork. And everywhere in a mile radius, no matter what it was, just shriveled up and took it's death peacefully, only to be overgrown by the great mosses of the Earth and into the fiery depths of the burning torture. Why would they not stop? Why must they keep riding? The questions remained unanswered. They were what he feared. He wasn't about to show it.  
  
"Lucius, get over here." Voldemort hissed.  
  
"Yes, master?" Lucius was suspicious. Usually his lord was more eloquent and dangerous a speaker.  
  
"Tell me what you see."  
  
Lucius looked into the great orb, and stared as the Eye of Ire showed him the Tormentors. He didn't know much about them, but he knew just enough to know that they never meant anything good.  
  
"I-I see the Tormentors."  
  
"Very good. You're starting to get better at not lying to your Lord." There was a venomous silence for a while, before Voldemort broke it. "Do you know what this means?"  
  
"No."  
  
Voldemort chuckled a bit at his servant's ignorance. Knowledge was power, and he was the conqueror of that knowledge. "It means that there is a piece of scum that has Sylphic Angelic blood in their veins. You must know nothing of them, but they are immortal, I can tell you that much. And they are a threat. A threat to all we hold dear. A threat to our work."  
  
"So, are the Tormentors our allies?"  
  
Voldemort chuckled darkly. "They are no more allies to us than Harry Potter or Dumbledore. Watch for them."  
  
* * *  
  
Draco stared out the window. He saw Potter, Weasley, and Granger walking out to enjoy Hogsmeade together. He envied their every move. At least, he tried. It wasn't like he could really control his thoughts. Whenever he thought of how much they had that he didn't, he felt a pang of sharp pain and would not remember conscious thought for days. He couldn't remember what he had thought of his father when he was little. There were no thoughts. Only darkness. And willingness to do as his father wished. Somehow his brain had adapted to the curse, and he could somewhat think for himself, but he dare not do it very often. His father would find out. If he resisted . . . his father would kill him. So he did what was needed to remain alive. He tormented Potter and all those who thought him a god. It was not his true nature, heck, he didn't know what his true nature was. He didn't care. He only wanted to live, and eventually, live true.  
  
Of course, his father was never horrid to him. He just made his son do what he wanted, and why was that so terrible? As far as Draco knew, everyone who still had parents living were under the spell. Except Potter. His parents weren't alive to enforce the spell upon him, so he was the only one that Draco knew was completely genuine. He was the only one that was untouched by his parents, and could think and do whatever he pleased. Draco hated him for that. He hated the boy's innocence, and wanted to taint it with evil, just to see what would happen. But perhaps these thoughts were the curse speaking through him. He had learned to act upon them, apparently his father thought them useful. He didn't really know if anyone else at school lived with the curse. He didn't even know if the curse was rare.  
  
"Malfoy, d'you want a chocolate frog?" Blaise Zabini asked timidly of him.  
  
"No, I was just going to go to Hogsmeade to get my own. Besides, your filthy hands touched them, I fear they may be contaminated." Draco's words stung and he knew it, but it was the curse working again.  
  
"Crabbe, Goyle, come on." The two Amazing Hulks followed him blindly out the door; devoted entirely to the way his father made him act when he toyed with his head.  
  
It was overcast, nothing really special about the day. It wasn't really very beautiful, just a typical winter's day. Everyone from the school seemed to clear a path as Draco and his cronies walked by. Draco, in his mind, was forced to hold his head high with arrogance. He forced himself to strut, each footstep long and elegant. He was the one who owned the road. He was the one to catch everyone's attention. He went to Honeyduke's and turned heads when he stocked up for the rest of the year. It had stocked up to 20 galleons' worth of candy and sweets. He got a gasp from the cashier at Zonko's when he bought the 80-galleon map of the Ministry of Magic, including the people where they were at the time you were looking at it. It was what his father made him buy for him for Christmas. Draco shuddered when his father had informed him of what he was planning to do with it.  
  
Then, after that part of his day was done, he only had to get rid of the thugs standing behind him. It was his job to spy on Potter and his friends now.  
  
"You two get back to the castle, I myself have work." Draco snapped. The two stared dumbly at him for a moment, then moved after Draco gave them a push.  
  
He had actually been following Potter and company around all day secretly, without the knowledge of his . . . dashing . . . cronies. Now they were headed to a fancy Italian restaurant. Weasley must be paying, thought Draco peevishly; he's been flaunting his money ever since his father was elected Minister of Magic. Draco followed them in after a few moments.  
  
* * *  
  
"Ron! This is so expensive!" Hermione hissed.  
  
"Yeah, really Ron, maybe you should save some, you know, for other things."  
  
"Oh Harry, don't you realize that I am? Its just that we have too much money, so dad gave us all a million galleons to spend as we chose, and I wanted to spend it on things like this." Ron explained matter-of-factly.  
  
"Well, I still think that you should keep it simple. Really, you may need it for something else someday." Hermione antagonized.  
  
"Smoking or non-smoking?" The waiter asked as she came to seat them.  
  
"Non-smoking, please." Ron advised.  
  
She led them off to a table in the center of the room. Harry undid the buttons on his knit jacket and hung it on his chair. Ron took Hermione's own coat off her and hung it on her chair. He also scooted the chair out and pushed it in for her. She gave him a mildly annoyed look; it seemed to say that she could do things for herself. Ron shrugged, and sat down in his own chair, and picked up the menu.  
  
Harry smiled sadly at the exchange. He had come to think that he would never really have someone to worry and fuss about him the way Ron did Hermione. He wanted it badly, but he was afraid of being used for his fame. Neither had he heard anyone at Hogwarts ever just come out and say "Its okay to be gay!" He didn't know what other people would think, and he certainly didn't know any other homosexual wizards. Hermione noticed him, and motioned with her eyes that she wanted to know what was wrong. Harry put his hand up, as if to tell her that he wanted to wait.  
  
"What're you having, Harry?" Ron asked.  
  
"Um . . . darn, I haven't really thought of it yet. Maybe the lasagna?"  
  
"I'm having the chicken fettuccini."  
  
After the orders were taken, the conversation turned to a more light-headed topic: Quidditch.  
  
"Are you sure you aren't gonna come back to the team Harry? I mean, really, we need you." Ron pleaded.  
  
"Ron, you are doing just fine without me, okay? You're a great strategist. I'm sure they'll vote you for team captain next year." Harry reassured him.  
  
"Ron, really, you always tell Harry that he has to have more faith in himself, but you don't even acknowledge that you are a great strategist. You need to look at yourself. I mean, you're good enough to catch the attention of the school with your Quidditch skills. That was what you wanted last year, remember?" Hermione added.  
  
"Well, last year I was different. Now, I think I kinda know why Harry's always going on about how much fame stinks, and I don't really want that."  
  
"Harry would like it."  
  
"Well, Harry doesn't know what the responsibility is like, so he really doesn't have a say in it."  
  
"Ahem, Harry still happens to be in the room and at the same table as you are, but if you will excuse him, I think he will just let you two bicker." Harry bluntly stated as he got up from the table.  
  
"Now where's he going off to so quickly?" Ron said, mystified.  
  
Once he was safely in the bathroom, Harry turned the sink on and splashed water up into his face. He stared at his wet reflection, bags under the eyes and all. The stress was starting to take a serious toll on his appearance. His skin was pale, not its normal kittenish color, but his eyes were just as large and bright as ever, glowing, the only thing that remained to look healthy about him. His unusually long fingers were deftly grabbing a piece of towel to wash his face. God, he hadn't figured out what he'd say yet. He just needed to remain calm, and get his eyes set on a focus. They wouldn't reject him, he was sure of it. He took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes to compose himself. He didn't even notice when Draco Malfoy came out of the bathroom stall behind him. All he knew was that someone else wanted to use the sink, so he stepped aside and went back to his table.  
  
"What was that all about?" Ron asked.  
  
"Ron, you know when you're out on a date with Hermione, and she excuses herself for just a second to go to the ladies' room?"  
  
"Yeah," Ron answered.  
  
"That's what I just did."  
  
"You went to the ladies' room?" Ron queried, excited.  
  
"Hermione, slap him."  
  
Hermione lightly slapped Ron, so as not to hurt him, but show him that he was being a bit too inquisitive about Harry excusing himself. The waiter had come while Harry was preparing himself in the John, and Hermione said they had just ordered the lasagna for him anyway. Harry thanked them, and listened to them banter for a little while longer. His nerves were steadily growing, his stomach getting sicker and sicker. Although, watching them was quite entertaining, eventually Ron couldn't stand it any longer and popped the question.  
  
"So, Harry, what was up with you this past year?" Hermione lightly slapped him and gave him a stare that said he was too blunt.  
  
"Oh, I knew it would come down to this." Harry whined.  
  
"Well?" Ron prompted after several seconds.  
  
"Oh, I don't know how to say this." Harry trailed off. His friends were giving him their full attention. Hermione's face looked fearful, and Ron looked lost.  
  
"I'm . . . " Hermione looked like she expected Harry to say he was dying of cancer. "Gay."  
  
Hermione gasped, and covered her mouth. Ron put on a little smirk, as if Harry was kidding, and said, "No, really, what is it?"  
  
"No, Ron, I'm dead serious." Hermione still hadn't uncovered her mouth. Harry could feel the waves of shock and . . . what was that? Fear? . . . rolling off her. He could see her face contorting with such an emotion that had never been shown to any human being by her before.  
  
"H-Hermione, you okay?" Harry tentatively made the first inquisition after a long and awkward silence.  
  
"Its just, well, my parents were never really approving of gays." Hermione squeaked.  
  
"So, are you disgusted with me?"  
  
"I don't really know that yet. You're a very good friend, my best friend now that I'm with Ron, and you've never done anything odd like this before, so I don't think I should be. But my parents always pursed their lips whenever they walked by gay and lesbian couples on the street, they would always tell me how it was unnatural for men to like other men and the same with women, and they showed me where it said that gay men are sinners in the Bible. My friendship with you contradicts my entire bringing up. It just might take me some time to make up my mind."  
  
Ron was staring ahead at the wall, dazed, as the information Harry had just given them was finally starting to make itself real in his mind. Harry? Gay? Those two words didn't seem to fit. He had been dating Cho Chang for a while, if he was gay, why would he have a girlfriend?  
  
"What about Cho?"  
  
"I was so scared to tell you guys, that I chose a girl to "have a crush on." When she asked me out, I was absolutely petrified. We were in private, I just broke down and told her what I am, and that I was sorry for leading her on, and she understood completely. Apparently, her cousin is a lesbian, so she was completely okay with it. We faked it for a long time, with her encouraging me to come out all the while. Eventually, we "broke up" because she wanted to have a boyfriend that wasn't checking out boys with her."  
  
"Why were you so worried?" Hermione whispered.  
  
"There are people like your parents that don't approve of gays. Some people murder gay people just because they're gay."  
  
Hermione covered her mouth, as if in sorrow of what she had said earlier about her upbringing. She looked like she was about to cry, and Ron reached out for her hand. They held their hands for a short while, then released their grasp. Ron hugged her slightly, then turned once again to Harry.  
  
"I guess this is more important than I was expecting. I think we should get our bill early, and leave. We all need a good night's rest." Harry suggested, with a small twitch of the lips to form the shadow of a warm smile.  
  
"Yes, let's, I don't think I'm really all that hungry anymore." Hermione whispered.  
  
After Ron had gathered up the check and they their coats, they were a silent procession up to the castle. There were sideways glances at Harry, who averted his own eyes and studied the snow so he wouldn't have to bear their stares full on.  
  
"Oh! I left my purse at the restaurant, Ron, will you come with me to go get it? We'll only be a minute Harry."  
  
* * *  
  
Draco knew nothing, his mind was forcing his body to go up to the school and rudely tell everyone the interesting tidbit he had just overheard at the Gryffindors' table. Harry Potter! Gay! That would make him famous if he told the presses. First, he had to humiliate the young wizard by telling the entire school. He listened in until he saw the trio leave, then got up and wrote paid the cashier for his butterbeer.  
  
He blindly walked toward the Three Broomsticks, his feet numb, apparently he wasn't able to think for himself at the time. The regular Malfoy 'I- don't-care-about-hopeless-weaklings' sneer was plastered all across his face. It was all he could do to stop himself, and he didn't even succeed at that. His face muscles fought it, pushing against the barrier that his father had created against his will. He wasn't as strong as the Gryffindors were. He was weak. He had to do what his father told him. Must obey . . . no other thought, only obey . . .  
  
He quickly spotted his Slytherin 'friends' over in the corner closest the bar. His face muscles lost their battle and the smirk was back in place. For anyone who was looking on, it wouldn't look like Draco was fighting a losing battle. But he was. All his leg muscles had tightened and tried to run as the outward force was dragging him to his 'friends.'  
  
"Draco! Come here, my boy!" A Slytherin sixth year hollered to him semi- pleasantly. Draco felt his eyes light up with malice, or glee, they were one and the same in his father's opinion. He slid gracefully into a chair next to a fourth year, and all the Slytherins listened in eagerly as they noticed the look on his face.  
  
"You'll never believe what I just heard!" He said loudly, trying to cause a scene in the bar, or at least get a lot of Hogwarts kids to listen to him. "Potter's gay! A poof! There goes the end of a long line of rats if we ever saw one!" The Slytherins all howled with laughter, they knew they were in for a good Potter-bashing.  
  
* * *  
  
"So, Harry's gay, what do you think we should do about it?" Ron asked Hermione.  
  
"I really don't think we can do anything. He's gonna be in for a rough time right now, I know he will, so I think we should be supportive. Its gonna be hard though. I mean, I'm thinking about owling my parents to see if they're okay with it."  
  
"That's a good idea. I mean, think of all those years we were in the same dorm. Changing!" Ron shuddered a bit to think that Harry had chance walked in sometimes only to find them all either nude or semi-decent.  
  
What Ron and Hermione hadn't thought of was that some of the students on the street had overheard their conversation. Now, a few more conversations about Harry's sexuality were breaking out, and more students overheard them, and they started shocked conversations of their own, and everything snowballed, and soon the Hogwarts Gossip Express was in full working condition.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry awoke tired the next day, but he was strangely at peace with the world. Ron and Hermione knew, so the hardest part was over. Now the only thing he had to do was tell the school, which would be a bit harder. He decided that breakfast could wait, and that he needed some extra sleep. It was only Sunday, after all. He heard the other boys getting up, moving around the room quietly, but he paid them no attention. He silently drifted off into a deep slumber, the boys none the wiser.  
  
When Harry woke, he saw that it was only fifteen minutes later than when he had awoken the first time, and he supposed that by the time he got down to the Great Hall, everyone would be there already. So he slowly rose out of bed, and then a towel would have been found missing from the towel rack as Harry went into the showers.  
  
The water was soothing as it ran off his body in small rivulets. It lulled his thoughts, and half of what was bothering him was off his shoulders. The other half he could examine and figure out for himself. He brought his hands up so he could see his palms. They frightened him. He was glad that he had quit Divination to take some classes that were more worth his while, like Wizarding Law, Magical Theory, Spell Creation and Enhancement, and an advanced history course. Of course, he was only reading up on these subjects. Next year he would actually be taught them as a college course. That's off the subject though. Under a closer inspection, Harry could see that rather than more lines being created on his palm, as Professor Trelawney had said happened to wizards as they grew, his lines were slowly rearranging themselves. They were forming a circle, right in the middle of his palm, outlining it. And he was starting to worry about his otherwise normal appearance. His ears were coming to a point, but for right now, his short-cropped hair could hide the tiny, miniscule triangle of cartilage at the very top of his ears. His eyes were greener and brighter than they had ever been, and there was a greenish sheen above them that looked like make- up girls put on to show them off. His skin looked like he had slept outside and the dew had come and kissed him, and was still there when he awoke, such was the glow. Luckily for him, he could hide most of this with his winter's clothing.  
  
The only thing that really worried him was the fact that none of the other Gryffindors were going through the same things he was. None of the older students had shown symptoms like this. He knew his mother couldn't have been anything extraordinary, she was directly related to Muggles, so she had to be a pure witch. But it showed him just how little he knew about his father's side of the family. Could his father have been anything other than a wizard? The only magical people Harry had come across were hags, centaurs, House Elfs, trolls, and goblins, so he didn't really know what else was out there. He didn't know what else he could be. However, no one really seemed to have noticed that his body was starting to curve like the girls' waists had, nobody really noticed how much he looked like a woman.  
  
* * *  
  
The staff table was, as always, the quietest of tables, but not by much. The staff were already planning out what they'd do on the looming Christmas break. They were vaguely aware that the students had a new piece of gossip to chew on and stew over. Anyone who had ever been in a school would know that the children were excited. Minerva McGonagall was starting to wonder what it was, exactly, that they were gossiping about. She knew something that was sure to cause an uproar like this.  
  
"Minerva!" She heard someone hiss. McGonagall rolled her eyes.  
  
"Yes, Ms. Trelawney?" She turned her head to the woman standing behind her.  
  
"I need your help. I think I've uncovered a mystery that needs solving . . . and fast." This caught McGonagall's attention. Sybil was never like this . . . she was always an airy-fairy.  
  
"It's about our Mr. Potter."  
  
"Oh. That. Listen, I really think it's just his business."  
  
"What-?" Sybil was cut off as she heard a silence go through the Great Hall.  
  
Harry had just entered the hall.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry stared around him at all the faces of Hogwarts. He knew right away what had happened. Somehow, someway, they had figured out about him. Something had slipped, maybe someone overheard his initial coming-out to Ron and Hermione, or maybe Ron and Hermione had been talking about him while they were going back to the restaurant last night.  
  
He felt his breath catch in his throat. A lot of the faces that were staring at him weren't happy looking, but rather some were disgusted, some spiteful, some of the girls looked like they were pleading that he wasn't gay. A wave of horror flashed over him, as the stares crashed into him, some with the power to knock him backwards. The mounting tension was starting to weigh him down, and his shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of their gazes. He didn't want to face them about this yet. It scared him. He hadn't planned for it to happen like this.  
  
"Is it true that you're a queer?" Ernie Macmillan stood up to ask. He had never been a quiet or patient Hufflepuff.  
  
"Yes." Harry heard his throat rasp out the one word that would define who he was, the one word that would throw all the prejudice and hate at him.  
  
The hall suddenly burst into a flying fight of insults and unfriendly laughter. Ginny looked mortified, and Harry felt so bad because she had been nursing a crush on him ever since the first day she saw him at King's Cross. Harry blushed red and quietly sat between Hermione and Parvatti, who didn't look at him. Harry supposed she thought that explained his behavior last year at the Yule Ball. Harry kept his eyes down so they wouldn't make eye contact with anyone. He didn't think he could bear to watch his roommates look at him with embarrassment written on their faces. For them, it would have been like changing in front of a girl.  
  
"It'll be okay, Harry, don't you worry about it. They'll come around . . . " Hermione muttered from the corner of her mouth. Harry finally looked up at her. She seemed to be over her doubt of beliefs from yesterday. That or she was just trying to be a supportive friend. Harry was half ashamed.  
  
Eventually the students stopped trying to insult him directly, and instead started to whisper behind his back. Harry looked over at Cho, and she seemed to be having a hard go of things. She had been so kind to him, she had understood. But her friends seemed to think he had used her, and were asking questions that Harry could only imagine were like 'Didn't you know?' and 'Did you really like him, or were you just dating him because you felt sorry for him?'.  
  
The Gryffindor table found they had nothing to say while Harry was still there. The tension grew into a tumultuous cry, shattering them apart. He stared down at his plate. He felt like he should be blushing, but he didn't know why. He told himself that he had to stay there, he had to show the world he wasn't afraid of gay-bashers, and that he expected life to go on as it had before. But he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand that everyone was looking at him. He couldn't stand that people were talking about him. He couldn't take it anymore, so he didn't. He got up and left.  
  
* * *  
  
The teachers surveyed this scene, just in case things got really nasty, but after Harry left, everything died down, and Sybil finished her conversation with Minerva.  
  
"I wasn't talking about Harry being . . . that . . . I was just talking more about some help with research."  
  
"What kind of research?" Minerva asked. Sybil? Research?  
  
"I need some information on Harry's father, James, and you were here when he was at Hogwarts, so I thought you could help me." Sybil held her breath, praying that Minerva would help her.  
  
"Alright. I'll help you."  
  
They met in the library later that day; neither had any classes on Sundays. Minerva plopped next to Sybil as a huge stack of old books fell with a tired clunk onto the table.  
  
"What's all that?" Sybil asked, letting her guard down for a moment.  
  
"I thought you'd know already. After all, you are a seer."  
  
"I wouldn't use my powers for something so trivial." Sybil snipped, cursing herself for letting her guard down. They were still bitter rivals.  
  
"Anyway, all this is stuff that was left over from James's life. I have his yearbook, an album with pictures of him in it, a genealogy book of the wizarding families of this century, and Remus Lupin's old journal. There should be at least some important stuff in here."  
  
"Could you hand me Lupin's journal?" Minerva huffily handed over the journal.  
  
Sybil started to read, but eventually she had to do a translation charm so she could read the messy handwriting. She looked at an entry somewhere near the middle, where his third year started.  
  
September first.  
  
Today I went back to Hogwarts. All is normal, at least, with the castle that is. We have a new transfer student. His name is James Potter. He's pretty cool, and hit it off with Sirius right away. A funny thing about him, though. His fingers are longer than his palms, at least. I don't think it is anything really important. He's got black hair, I can't really tell if 'comb' is in his vocabulary, that or his hair has attitude. He is much more interesting than his appearance, and that is saying something. He refuses to tell us anything about his past experiences, only the fact that his parents are dead. He said his mother died from anorexia and his father alcoholism, but I really think he was just joking about that. He was laughing when he said it, and he didn't stop laughing for the rest of the ride to Hogwarts. He acted just like everyone did as a first year, nothing new there, and, other than the whole James thing, there isn't anything new.  
  
Minerva was having little luck of her own. There were no Potters in the genealogy book, and James had been a pure blood. So she decided to resort back to the index, and see if there were any witches who married Muggles, and adopted a child who happened to be a pure blood, but that would take a lot of extensive research. It looked like this would be a longer project than she had originally intended. 


	2. Chapter 2: Living With It

Chapter Two: Living With It  
  
Harry had nothing to do but trudge back up to the dorms. All was quiet there, no one else was in the tower. All he needed was some peace and quiet. He picked up a book and got started in on his History essay: 'The History of the Magical People of Your Choice.' He looked over the options. Merpeople didn't really look all that interesting, and besides, he'd already had contact with them last year. Hags were a bit too disgusting, werewolves lived among wizards, so they were just a bit too easy. House Elves, no, that might offend Dobby. Goblins and trolls he already knew about, so he didn't see the point. Then the word 'Sylph' caught his attention. He had no idea what that was. He knew, automatically, that this was what he was going to study. The page the book instructed him to turn to was 340, so he opened the great volume, and tried to find any word of sylphs on the page. They were really just going on and on about ancient magic, and how it was once far greater than wizards, the new magic. Then there was a paragraph that caught his eye.  
  
There was once a time when wizards and witches were new, their magic had developed over time in their blood, and, as we know, magic isn't necessarily hereditary. We have the squibs, who could have been born pure bloods, and we have the Muggle-borns, who have no link whatsoever to magic. Wizards and witches are really just human, so they have the flaws of humans, while other beings don't. In the old times, just after the Trojan wars, wizards and witches were very protective.  
  
This didn't go over too well for the sylphs, as they were discovered at that time. They were found to be older and wiser than our kind, and were shunned for being different. Whenever a wizard saw a sylph, they would kill them, and they would destroy their homes, until finally, well before the Celts, they had drifted totally into legend, and were thought to be a myth and only a myth. They had been beaten back by the wizards. They didn't even have the honor left of having their true name known. They are now called faeries, an insult to their greatness, as people now mistake them for fairies.  
  
There was nothing else. It hadn't even described them. It must have been a long time ago that the sylphs were known. He would just have to delve deeper. Harry wrote down all the notes that he could from that short mentioning, and was about to leave for the library, when the rest of the Gryffindor boys came in.  
  
"Well, I never said women understand you." Seamus was saying boisterously. They had stopped laughing when they saw Harry was in the room. There was an awkward pause, as the boys didn't really want to explain what they were talking about to him, but Harry was looking inquisitively at them with his head cocked.  
  
"'Lo, Harry." Ron finally said, raising a hand in greeting.  
  
"Hello, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville." Harry said with a cheerful grin. "So, what's the discussion on today? Girls? Girls? Oh, wait, I know, girls."  
  
"Right, well, we don't have to continue this if you don't want to listen to us." Dean apologized.  
  
"Oh, no, well, I was just going to the library anyway, so I guess you shouldn't be bothered by me all that much." Harry stood catlike, grabbing his book hurriedly as well as his parchment and a quill. No one bothered to move out of the way of the door, so Harry worked his way around them. Ron looked as if he was about to say something, but then decided it wasn't very appropriate, and let Harry on his way.  
  
As he was walking, Harry decided that it would be a while before his friends were completely comfortable with his new . . . er . . . status. He didn't care how beautiful the snow was today. As far as he could see, it was just gray, nothing really special.  
  
Why do I have to be so different? Harry was thinking as he trudged the corridors, trying to somehow stop himself from getting to his present destination. It wasn't like he wanted the attention, it's just that when love came into question, he wanted to be as true to himself as possible. If he didn't love girls, he certainly wasn't going to date them, let alone marry them. He just wanted to be happy, but others found his happiness disgusting. What could he do? Nothing. So he chose to have prejudice wash over him.  
  
"Watch where you're going!" He heard someone shout at him from his new position on the ground. "Don't touch me! I don't want to be tainted by you!" After spitting in his hair, the Hufflepuff walked off.  
  
Harry gathered his things once again into his bag and went off, this time much more aware that there were others in the halls as well as he. The jeers started as he got into the main part of the school, and the pushing shortly after. The people went out of their way to elbow him in the ribs, to abuse him. A run involuntarily broke out, and Harry nearly sprinted the rest of the way to the sanctuary of the library.  
  
He slammed the door behind him, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath. There weren't many people in the library on Sundays; they were usually enjoying the last day of the weekend. Cautiously, Harry edged away from the door and went over to the rows of books that had a big sign above them that read: "Magical Creatures and People." He scanned the titles, searching out a book that could help him. When he had traveled through three rows, he found an empty worktable. Apparently, it was for those lowly and weary travelers who were exhausted from the extent of their journeys through the library. He gratefully plopped his bag down on a chair, sat in a second one, and went to find the card catalogue for this particular section. This in itself was an adventure, as he finally found it right next to the cards in the botany section across the library.  
  
"Let's see . . . Selky . . . Sprites . . . Sylphs! Aha!" He stared at the card he had pulled out. "'See Ancient Myths'?"  
  
So, Harry once again found his little island of a table, gathered his things yet again, and took off to find the Ancient Myths section. It was obviously not on the first floor, along with all the rudimentary books; it was a much more delicate subject than that. Harry decided to look on the second floor.  
  
Here was where he had found his books on theory and law and such stuff like that; they had philosophy and wizard religion in them. He stared at the card. 'Ancient Myths?' He decided it must be a hidden section, to compensate for the lack of manuscripts on the subject. He went into the very corners of the second story. Finally, after about a half an hour of looking, he found the (now infamous, in his mind) section of the library. There was no table in sight. Do they REALLY want us to research this or not? Harry asked himself, rolling his eyes. Luckily, there was a comfortable armchair near the railing that Harry could sit in to study. The coffee table was just right for him to put his feet on, but he didn't dare. He feared the wrath of Madam Pince. So, instead, he set up camp on the table.  
  
Harry brought the card with him when he went back to the shelves. There weren't very many books listed on it, and Harry wondered if a lot of them would be checked out. Somehow, his mind severely contradicted this thought, it had taken him nearly an hour to find the section itself, let alone the books within it. Besides, there had been a lot of easier beings on the list. However, there were only three books on the list that weren't in the restricted section, and now he read the titles to himself:  
  
A Wizard's Guide to the Magical People of Britain  
  
Photographs of the Legend: Sylphs  
  
Man or Mortal? The Great Question  
  
The third looked the best of all of them, so he started the quest. The shelves were only sorted by what type of people the books were talking about. He stared as he started to walk through the aisles, checking on either side of him. The dusty volumes were somewhat of a guide to him as to what books to look at; the level of dust told volumes. Some looked as though they hadn't been looked at for ages. Harry trailed his fingers across them, searching for just the right title. He finally found it at the very end of the aisle, right next to the photography book. The book looked distant, and he picked it up after long thought. He took it back to his table, and flipped through the pages, but the first thing he saw was this sentence:  
  
The idea of sylphs is so ludicrous that sometimes I wonder why I'm even writing this book; they have no place in the culture of wizards.  
  
Harry decided that this book would be a bit too opinionated to learn anything from. So he took it back to the shelving area, and went to find The Wizard's Guide to the Magical People of Britain. This book was amazingly easier to find. Perhaps that was because it had more than just sylphs in it. Before he sat down in the chair again, he checked to see what pages contained the sylphs. Page 102. He flipped to that page, and saw what looked like a picture of a little fairy. He angrily put the book back on the shelf. Grabbing his book bag, he returned the card to the catalogue and sulked out of the library. He decided that his best chance was the Restricted Section, and he needed a note for that.  
  
The title of the book he needed had been written in Latin, luckily Harry spoke Latin. It was Ut Venustus Natio Interpretari, or, roughly, The Fair Tribe Explained. He resolved to ask the first teacher he met that wasn't Snape to sign him a pass. Up ahead he saw Professor Flitwick, and ran to catch up to him.  
  
"Professor! Professor, I want to get this book out of the library, but it's in the Restricted Section, so I need someone to sign for it. Could you please do it?" Harry called, catching up to the small yet surprisingly speedy professor.  
  
"Oh really, well, I'd be obliged." O Short One stared down at the note, then looked up at Harry quizzically. "You do know this is written in Latin, right?"  
  
"Oh, yes, of course, why?"  
  
"It's just, I didn't know if you'd be up to it, exactly. I mean, you being . . . well, you."  
  
"What's this all really about?" Harry stared down at him, intrigued.  
  
"Erm, just forget I said that."  
  
Harry thought he knew what this was all about, but he didn't want to embarrass the professor more than he currently had, so he spared him a sharp contradiction.  
  
"Thank you, Professor Flitwick, you've been a great help."  
  
"Anytime, for the knowledge that you speak Latin, I would do anything." His old professor smiled at him happily and walked away.  
  
Harry turned on his heel and stepped away into the realms of the library for the second time in the day. This time, he had a purpose and wasn't just browsing. The librarian looked completely immersed in something that looked suspiciously to Harry like a Cosmopolitan magazine from the states, and didn't' even notice when Harry walked right up to her desk and dropped the note on the empty space. He cleared his throat rather loudly, and finally the severe woman looked up from her spot behind the desk and flushed in embarrassment.  
  
"So, what do you want?" The old bookkeeper inquired, still a lovely shade of rose.  
  
"I want to get this book from the Restricted Section." Harry quietly requested.  
  
"Ah, yes, the Restricted Section, should have known." Then, noticing the warmness with which she had spoken, cleared her throat and glared at him with disapproval. "You do know this is in Latin, don't you?"  
  
"I've already been through that with Professor Flitwick, and yes, I have registered that particular fact, and I can indeed speak Latin. Could you please just show me to where the book is"  
  
The madam shuffled irritably and went off into the shelves. Harry followed close behind her, staring over her shoulders all the way. She went into the Restricted Section boldly, and went right to where she thought the book would be resting. However, it wasn't with the other books written in Latin, and Madam Pince looked puzzled, and then led him off into another section, and Harry could have sworn that if this had been a cartoon, she would have had a little light bulb above her head. She led him off into another section that looked suspiciously like a section that held tombs about magical creatures. However, they had no luck here, and she took him off into yet another section. This one looked like it held dark magic, and they quickly passed through it. They didn't have a lot of options left, and Madam Pince looked utterly confused.  
  
"I swear, no one has checked that book out since last century, it should be hanging around here somewhere." She shook her head and went to the last resort. "Accio Ut Venustus Natio: Interpretari!"  
  
The book came whizzing out from behind a shelf, as it had fallen into such disuse that it really had no reason to be out on the main shelves.  
  
"Here you are, Mr. Potter, I hope you enjoy it."  
  
"Thank you for everything, Madam Pince." Harry smiled at her gratefully.  
  
"I'll still need you to some with me to the front and officially check it out." The librarian said almost apologetically.  
  
Harry followed her to the front desk and he took his quill out of his bag. He wrote his name out on the sheet that she held out to him, and handed it over to her. Their hands brushed, and Madam Pince stared at his terrifically long fingers. She raised an eyebrow at him, and to throw her off, he smiled quickly as if nothing had happened, and carefully pulled his sweater so only the very tips of his fingers showed. He tried not to walk away too quickly, and when he wasn't in her sight anymore, he broke into a little jog, and forced himself to slow down.  
  
The Gryffindor commons were starting to clear because lunch was drawing near, but Harry still noticed some of the boys squirmed a little when he walked in. Hermione was happily helping Parvatti with her homework, and Harry walked over to them and sat on the couch next to Hermione.  
  
"Hello." Harry greeted them.  
  
"Hello," Hermione and Parvatti said together, but Parvatti continued to talk to him.  
  
"Look, I understand why you didn't want to dance with me that much at the Yule Ball, and there should be no hard feelings between us."  
  
"Thank you, I'm so sorry, I just wasn't brave enough to come out last year, so I had to pretend that I liked girls, and I feel so bad that I ended up hurting you. I really didn't mean it. You had good right to be angry."  
  
"Harry, did you already have the assignment of that nasty essay for Snape about the uses of Eocene in potions?" Hermione asked after they had a little 'moment.'  
  
"Yeah, god, I hated that."  
  
"Where did you look?" Parvatti asked frantically.  
  
"I'll loan you the book I used. When's the due date?"  
  
"Next Thursday."  
  
"Ah, right, well, I'll go get it for you now. Excuse me." Harry started up the stairs to the boy's dorms and went inside.  
  
"AIIIIGH!!" He heard Dean squeal, accompanied by the rushing of fabric to get behind the curtains of his four-poster.  
  
"Apparently, someone's in here." Harry said wryly to himself.  
  
"Harry, to avoid further embarrassment, could you please KNOCK!!!???"  
  
"Okay, I'll be out of here in a moment."  
  
"Cover your eyes!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"COVER YOUR EYES!!!!!" Dean screamed.  
  
"You're behind a curtain, I can't see anything." Harry said, pointing out the obvious.  
  
"Just do it!" Dean panted.  
  
"All right, all right, they're covered!" Harry put his hand over his eyes like he was shading them from the sun, and one handedly searched through his trunk. "I'm out, you can come out now." Harry called over his shoulder as he left. Harry laughed a bit at the slightly younger boy's foolishness as he practically skipped down the stairs.  
  
"What was all the screaming about?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "The entire common room could hear you."  
  
"I walked in on Dean changing for his date tonight with Lavender." Harry sat down beside her once more on the sofa. "Apparently, I should knock before entering the dorms."  
  
"Ah. Is that it?"  
  
"Mission interrupted, but completed." He grinned.  
  
"Thank you." Parvatti smiled at him, a little condescendingly, but that was her nature, and Harry dismissed it.  
  
"You know where Ron is?" Hermione inquired.  
  
"No idea, I thought he was with you, and since I was in the library, I'm sure he was no where near me." Harry pulled out his book, and started reading the introduction. Apparently, the wizard who wrote this was captured by the sylphs when the wizards were killing them off (he was a child at the time), and he had grown to love the people. He skipped the page to the next chapter.  
  
Chapter 1: The General Appearance of Sylphs  
  
When I lived with the Fair Ones, as they like to be called, I noticed several differences in their general anatomy from that of my own. I like to think of them as the little differences that let a wizard know what he's dealing with.  
  
There are, for one thing, two varieties. There is the flying variety, and the wandering variety. I will distinguish between them later.  
  
All sylphs are light of stature, and they are graceful. It's just their natural way of being. I don't think I've ever seen one stumble. Graceful does not mean slow, by any means. They move with the quickest actions, their reflexes amazing. They can capture you easily, and fight easily. They can see what you're going to do almost before you know what you will do. They can read minds.  
  
Their hands are set up differently than ours are. The fingers of a sylph are longer than the palm by a third. Futures of sylphs are impossible to interpret through Divination because the lines aren't the same. Rather, the lines are just a circle, all palms the same. Hearing is another one of the sylphs' strong points. All sylphs have pointed ears, and they are so acute that they can hear the beating of a heart. Their skin shines, with a quality rather like glass, and it catches the sun, complements their normally bright eyes, and makes them look absolutely stunning.  
  
There is only one thing that is only the sylphs' trait. They are both male and female at the same time. Physically, they have really small breasts, the curves of a woman, and a womb. Emotionally, they are feminine in their way of thinking. Physically, they have the male ability to sire children. Emotionally, they handle tough situations as a man would, most often without showing too much emotion. The only time when one sex is always dominant is when a mortal and a sylph have made children. Then, the child is more masculine if the mortal was a mother, and more feminine if the mortal was a father. There are always, of course, exceptions, but I have never heard of them, and they aren't really spoken of, as the prime existence of the sylphs is for equality. They wouldn't see being different an issue. The only hair they grow is on their heads, they don't get armpit hair, facial hair, leg hair, or any other kind of hair anywhere than on their heads.  
  
That is basically all the physical differences between a mortal and one of these Immortals, we will go into magical differences in the next chapter. Now, I plan in going into the two different kinds of sylph, starting with the flyers.  
  
They have wings, that much must be very obvious. But the wings are not always showing, nor are they a part of the arms, as you will. They seem to have a way of making the wings disappear into their backs, so they can walk among mortals. Apparently, their bones are hollow, like those of birds, so they can fly easier. These are the makers of the Invisibility Cloaks that are so rare in our world. Tears, though hard to come by, of a flying sylph can be used exactly like those of a phoenix, their healing powers can strain into the emotional world as well as the physical. Saliva will also work, but it will never be as powerful for it doesn't have the same symbolism as tears do, but you can use the saliva if you're desperate. However, the laws of the sylphs say that they aren't allowed to just give healing to someone or something unless they know that person has a destiny to fulfill. They also aren't allowed to give tears or saliva out in bottles to sell, and they are punished for the rest of eternity. According to their laws, some things just have to happen, whether they are good or bad.  
  
The wandering kind of sylph is very different, of course. They are the rulers. They rule over the lands, they came up with the government for sylphs. These are the ones that have the more magic abilities.  
  
They can split their bodies, make two of themselves. Of course, one is an illusion, but they will confuse you so much you won't know which is which. Their specialty is glamour, and they delight in tricking the human eye. All wandering sylphs have an ointment put on their eyes when they are born, for one thing, it helps their vision become absolutely perfect, for another, it makes it so they can see through glamour. Wandering sylphs also have the ability to stay underwater for any period of time under a full day and night. They love everything quick moving, and if you play music for them, their weakness shows, and you will have them caught up in a dance forever. As no sylph (wandering or flying) can give milk to their children, the wandering sylphs obliged to breed cattle, and the finest cattle you will ever see at that. They are very strict as to who uses which cows for what, and they take pride in their livestock.  
  
Those are about all the differences between sylphs and humans. In the next chapter, I shall speak of magical differences, and go more into their use of glamour.  
  
Harry looked up from his reading with a stunned expression on his face. So, this was what he was . . .  
  
"Harry? Are you all right?" Hermione asked him, lightly concerned.  
  
Before Harry could answer, Hermione was thoroughly preoccupied with Ron, who had just walked into the common room. Harry hurriedly scooted over to give him more room on the couch. He needn't have bothered. Ron sat so close to Hermione that if Harry hadn't moved, he would have been quite comfortable.  
  
"Hello, gorgeous." He murmured, putting his arm around her immediately.  
  
"Hello, handsome." They kissed passionately right in front of Harry, and Harry stared at them. They look like a couple in an old movie, he thought to himself. He nearly laughed at this thought, and they heard him stifle a giggle.  
  
"What?" Ron asked incredulously.  
  
"You two look like a couple in a movie from the 1940's!" Harry exclaimed. Hermione started laughing too, and Ron just went on looking completely lost. "I don't know if I should, but I'm going to leave you two alone." Harry got up and walked silently up to the fifth year boys' dorm. He knocked at the door, and heard Dean yell at him that he could come in.  
  
"Sorry about the little outburst from before, Harry, I wasn't decent."  
  
"In more ways than one." Harry replied with a little smile on his face. Dean looked confused, but then went on.  
  
"Well, anyway, I was wondering, if, er, you could give me some fashion advice. Should I wear the blue shirt, or the navy shirt?"  
  
Harry looked at Dean, then at the shirts.  
  
"The navy, it's much drearier for the season."  
  
"Is dreary good or bad?"  
  
"For winter, good."  
  
"All right then. Thanks, Harry." Dean smiled awkwardly. "Erm, Harry?"  
  
"Oh, right, well, I was going to the showers anyway." Harry grabbed his shampoo, a towel, and went into the sound proof bathroom. Dean would never know that he wasn't taking a shower.  
  
Harry opened the book to the page where it described what all sylphs looked like. He stripped so he could examine himself more closely, and scrutinized his reflection in the mirror. His body had the hourglass shape of a woman's, Harry supposed it was the feminine side of him. He couldn't see that he had breasts like a girl, but since his mother was mortal, the book said he'd be more masculine than feminine. His fingers were longer than his palms, and the lines on his hands now formed a rather sloppy circle. Ears getting still longer and more pointed, Harry knew he wouldn't be able to hide them for very long. Hair had not grown, and had never grown, anywhere but on his head, that explained why his arms were bare.  
  
Now came the hard part. Figuring out just what kind of sylph he was. He turned his back to the mirror and looked over his shoulder. His back stretched out before his eyes, bulging with what Harry thought to be wings hidden underneath it. So he could fly. Like an angel, he thought to himself, and sighed. Over the wings beneath the skin, his back looked swollen, and painful, but it wasn't. He wondered how he would go about getting his wings out so he could fly.  
  
Harry backed up until his knees hit the edge of the toilet. They buckled underneath him, and he 'harumphed' once indignantly. Bloody . . .  
  
* * *  
  
The two lonely professors had been studying for hours, and had found no existence of Potters before James (Lily too, but that was through marriage) and Harry, Lupin's journal hadn't given much away, and they still didn't have the information they needed.  
  
"Why can't we find anything?" Sybil muttered, nearly pulling her hair out in little clumps.  
  
"I don't know. This should be easier than it is." There was a pause as both women tried in vain to get rid of their headaches. Then Minerva looked up, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, hands shaping her face. "I have an idea."  
  
"I sensed that." Sybil was starting to go back to being the airy-fairy. Minerva shot her a glare.  
  
"Do you know the head of Beauxbatons very well?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, I should probably write her then. I want to know if James actually came from France, because that could put us off into a very different direction. I'll find all the pictures that I can of him, you will too, there might be a clue in his appearance. If we can't figure anything out ourselves, we might need to talk to people he knew. I guess we should also send a letter to Durmstrang, you never can be too careful. I'll talk to you at dinner tonight, if I have any leads. I hope we don't have to ask Albus, he can be so flowery at times!" With that, Minerva gathered her things and left a bewildered Sybil behind.  
  
Minerva went to her room right away to write the letter. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, and she reminded herself that she shouldn't get so worked up over it. The letter was quickly but neatly scrawled, and she read it over.  
  
Dear Madam Maxime,  
  
I do hope this letter finds you in good health. I just wrote to ask you a favor. I'm doing research on the Potters, and I was wondering if James went to Beauxbatons before he came here to Hogwarts. He joined third year, saying he had just moved, but he never told anyone from whence he came. I would appreciate your help more than you can ever know, and I will understand if you simply can't.  
  
Deputy Headmistress, Minerva M. McGonagall  
  
She made an exact copy of the letter, only this time it was changed to fit Durmstrang standards, and she went off briskly to the Owlery. She was somewhat insulted that she couldn't find this possibly important information, and she wasn't about to give up anytime soon.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione came up, breathless, for air, from her snog-session with Ron.  
  
"What?" He asked, panting slightly, hair rumpled.  
  
"Where's Harry?"  
  
"Remember, Dean told us he went to take a shower, the odd little bugger."  
  
"Dean, or Harry?"  
  
"Harry."  
  
"Ron, that was two hours ago. Even Harry wouldn't take a shower that long."  
  
"Don't worry about him. He'll be fine, Hermione, he's a big boy now." Ron playfully kissed her neck, and Hermione soon forgot her worries.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry had checked out the photography book from the library, and was studying the pictures. The sylphs had the same sheen above their eyes that he was starting to notice above his own, and their skin shone with what looked like glitter. The book was fairly new, the pictures were in brilliant color. Harry stared at them, transfixed, and turned the pages delicately with one long-fingered hand. These modern sylphs looked just like him, their brilliant eyes, their shiny skin, their elegant, long- fingered hands, their sculpted ears, and their swollen backs.  
  
Harry knew this was what his father had been. He had taken out the old photographs of his parents, and compared the sylphs to his father. James had, at best, tried to hide what he was. He usually wore long-sleeves to hide his hairless arms, and pants to hide his hairless legs. The long sleeves were usually too big for him, so they didn't show how long his fingers actually were.  
  
Of course, it had taken a while for Harry to accept the fact that he was of neither sex, that he actually wasn't technically gay. It was a slap in the face, but for all purposes, he needed to keep up the appearance that he was a male. Of course, he had always known that he was more feminine then all of the boys in his dorm, but he had never once suspected that that was because he really wasn't a boy. He shivered. Thinking about this kind of thing was starting to gross him out. Needless to say, he'd always think of himself as a boy. Everyone would. The pronouns used for Harry would always be 'he' or 'him.' What else were they to use? It? No.  
  
Harry wondered if his mother had known that James was a sylph. He supposed his mother had found out before the marriage, so she wouldn't be surprised. But there was one thing that bothered him. Why would his father hide what he was?  
  
It wasn't until much later that night when he found the note. Someone had left it for him to find in his book bag, and Harry unfolded it. It read: Leviticus; chapter 17, verse 22: You shall not lay with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination. God hates that. Harry felt like beating his head open.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione pried Ron off her for just a few moments, to catch her breath.  
  
"What is it now, love?" Ron asked sweetly.  
  
"You just wore me out, that's all." There was a slight pause as both panted lightly for more air.  
  
"Do you have any idea how much better my life is with you in it?" Ron asked her, playing with her curls. God, she's so beautiful. I never thought I'd find myself snogging with someone like her, he thought absently.  
  
"Tell me." She said, smiling a little and playing with his shirt.  
  
"Before there was you, I was always so tense, and unsure of myself. There was Harry on one hand, in all his splendor, and then there was you, on the other, with all your knowledge and beauty. I always felt like the middle man, you know, someone who nobody really thought about. Weasley, the right hand man to the great and wonderful Harry Potter."  
  
"He wouldn't like to hear you talking about stuff like that, Ronald Weasley, and you know it." Hermione teased playfully.  
  
"Aw, Harry knows full well what I'm talking about."  
  
"I'm sure he hates it though." Hermione added pointedly.  
  
"You're so observant sometimes, it's kinda creepy. Anyway, where was I?" He inquired, a smile lighting his blue eyes.  
  
"Middle-man." Hermione reminded him, closing her eyes.  
  
"Ah, yes, middle-man. Then, everything changed. With You-Know-Who on the rise again, Harry was called into serious action, and he couldn't be bothered with his social life anymore, well, except with us, that is. I suddenly wasn't even his middleman anymore. I was my own person, I didn't have a label. Then you . . . well, somehow you changed over the summer. You aren't so argumentative, and I realized just how much I liked you, that I had a long-term crush on you, and I went for it. I have a life, other than listening to what Harry is figuring out, pitying him, and following him."  
  
"Now, Ron, don't be spiteful. Come here." She grinned a little at him, and he leaned in towards her to start their kissing again.  
  
Neither of them seemed to notice that the common room was perfectly full, that the twins were cheering them on, or that it was bright daylight.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco stared around the Slytherin common room, a headache just starting to tease his brain. This was no normal headache, oh no, this was caused by his father. He felt the pressure, it hit his brain painfully hard, his body screaming at him to do as his father wished. The great clamp of his father's will was being tightened ever so slowly, yes, slowly. The pain was murder. Murder. Arson to his head. His father knew just how to yield this power of his, oh yes, and he wielded it at his own will, the curse coursed through Draco's very veins, branding him, scalding his memory. Half the time he couldn't remember doing anything, Lucius sent cruel images to his son. Finally, Draco gave in and went to get his books. He could no longer stand the drumming in his head.  
  
What was worse was when Draco didn't know if the feelings he felt were true, or if his father had induced them upon his soul. Subtlety was a tactic Lucius had picked up long ago. From where, no one really knew. Maybe he figured it out himself. But Lucius was smart, ah yes, very smart. He knew the nature of the curse that he had so generously placed upon his son. He could prod, ever so slightly, just a little, once, and he would plant a seed. Then, he would prod just ever so slightly again, and he would just lightly have gotten closer to victory. Now that the thought had come up twice, his son would remember it. A third time, and the noose would get ever so slightly nearer the dragon. After a few days, he could try it a fourth time, and his dragon was ensnared. A fifth time and his son actually believed what was being imprinted in his mind. He did that also with the normal teenage feelings, so Draco could not feel for a girl truly, rather his father would get pictures of all the Slytherin girls and pick one to implant as a crush in his son's mind.  
  
He chose one every so often, but wasn't really troubled with it. After all, a Death Eater has more important things to do than sit around and think about possible matches for his son. He also had to cater to Voldemort.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry soon found that there were certain rules he had to follow, now that he was open about being gay. For one thing, the boys in the dorm were a bit squeamish about being seen nude, ("But I've seen you guys change for years!" Harry complained) and forced him to change in the bathroom, where he would remain until the coast was clear. Also, it wasn't decent for Harry to touch other guys anymore, like, if one of his guy friends was crying, he couldn't comfort him with his touch, he had to remain at a distance and console them from there. He learned to accept the abuse the other students at Hogwarts directed at him for being gay. The way people would kick him if he bent to pick up his books, or the way they would spit at his feet when the teachers weren't looking, or the way they repeatedly left the message from the Bible in a place they knew he'd find it were becoming commonplace. The teachers didn't even discipline people for it anymore. The girls had readily accepted him as 'one of them,' as Lavender put it, and Harry soon found himself being their confidante when talking about boyfriends. This put him in a very hard situation, because he knew just exactly what the girls thought of all the boys in the class, and he heard a lot of stuff about guys' turn-offs. Of course, all the Gryffindor boys knew Harry knew all this stuff, and they'd come to him for strictly confidential meetings about how to impress their girls/crushes. This could get downright awkward and annoying, if they ever stopped to ask Harry what he thought about it. Luckily for Harry, Ron and Hermione never came to him with problems.  
  
However, Harry was missing out on a lot of social stuff, mainly because a lot of dances or things in Hogsmeade were 'couples only.' Not that Harry had the time to go to Hogsmeade, that is. Dumbledore had decided that he would get Harry done with school as soon as possible, so they were working double-time on it. With all the school-work and Quidditch practice, Harry decided that he could do without sleep, at least for a little while.  
  
Gradually, he was just plain forgotten by most people. He stayed on the side lines, just trying to play his cards right so nothing seriously bad would happen to him. He made sure that he was never found on his own, and took the invisibility cloak everywhere with him, just so some gay-bashers wouldn't catch him on his own.  
  
One morning, Hermione and Ron were having a very 'meaningful' conversation that made absolutely no sense to the others at the table, when Hermione got the 'Daily Prophet,' squeaked, and hid it under the table.  
  
"What? What's in there?" Harry asked her suspiciously. "Oh, wait, I know, they've written the 'gay' story, haven't they?"  
  
"I thought you wouldn't want to read it."  
  
"Who wrote it?" Ron asked, gently grabbing the newspaper from her. "Oh, it wasn't Rita Skeeter."  
  
"Oh, well, then I'm not very interested in reading it. It shouldn't be that far from the truth."  
  
They could hear the Slytherins roaring with laughter over at their table, and Harry tried to hide behind Alicia Spinnet. This was getting to be almost just like fourth year all over again.  
  
"So, Potter, I hear that at least 1,000 witches are mourning their chance to be with you!" Pansy shrieked.  
  
"I think this article is exaggerating just a little bit," Blaise Zabini screamed. "The only ones who wanted you were Patil, Granger, and Moaning Myrtle!"  
  
"But I doubt any of them would have you now! You couldn't keep a wilde- beast as a boyfriend with your looks!"  
  
"Oh, no, that wouldn't be it. He's too emotionless. Not really up to a good fight OR shag!"  
  
"Well, he's no worse off than you!" Ron shouted at them. Harry smiled to see that his friend still stood up for him.  
  
"At least now it's completely out in the open." Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. "If you'll excuse me, I have a lesson with Dumbledore to attend." He stood and left, jeers following him all the way.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Potter. Glad to see that you're doing well." Dumbledore said, smiling eccentrically at Harry.  
  
"Hello, Professor." Harry smiled a bit shyly at him, and sat down.  
  
"Today I want to talk with you about . . . " the old man trailed off into a long speech about Harry's History homework for the day, and Harry listened intently.  
  
* * *  
  
Everything had seemed relatively normal that day, except, of course, the newspaper article. However, other than that, to Harry, all was good in the world, which should have set him off to realize that he couldn't possibly stay that way. It should have been a looming omen for him. And it was.  
  
Harry didn't know if he was just being paranoid, or if he actually had a basis for his feelings, and he didn't know if it was because he was a sylph or not, but the Boy-Who-Lived knew that something wasn't right in the world. Everything had just been too . . . odd. Normal would have been the word for anyone else, but normal was not normal for Harry. For Harry, something bad had to happen to him, or else he knew he should be suspicious. And nothing had happened today, so he knew this couldn't be right. It wasn't even raining.  
  
They were eating dinner when Harry first felt it. A little prick at the back of his neck, as if something that shouldn't be there was. Then he felt it again, a little twinge in his scar, and he gently touched it. He knew something was wrong. So he put up his guard.  
  
"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione queried nervously, glancing around the hall.  
  
"There's something coming." Harry whispered.  
  
"Aren't you going to alert staff about it?" Ron whispered quietly to him.  
  
"Are you kidding? I have the distinct feeling that what is about to happen is supposed to happen. If I stopped it, the world would change. I don't feel like I should. It might change destinies."  
  
Ron and Hermione looked like they were going to ask more questions, but he gave them a look that said not to.  
  
He could feel it. The presence. It was in the school. It was going to bring pain with it, but Harry didn't know what to do. All he could do was wait. His meal grew tedious, stretched out, but for what he was waiting for, he had no idea. He played lightly with his fork, listening to Ron and Hermione's voices as they got more strained, and then just started to stop all together. The intensity of Harry's thoughts were reaching out of his body, through his beautiful green eyes, and purging the room in restlessness. With a slight movement of the door, a rat entered the room, and Harry understood what was to happen now. He remained quiet.  
  
His jaw clenched, hands turning cold with their sweat. He felt the odd madness of the mind that was frantic, yet strangely like that of an animal. The bare essentials. He felt his death approaching.  
  
It happened quickly. Why at dinner, Harry could only guess. Perhaps it was to intimidate the professors. Perhaps it was just simply because the man had no common sense, whatever the case scenario may be, what is fact is that a Death Eater came bursting into the Great Hall within ten minutes of when Harry first felt his shock.  
  
The mask was firmly in place, but Harry could feel this person's eyes glittering with a madness that was only what you could expect of a Death Eater. His black robes were slightly too small, as if the person standing before them had no time to shop for the proper size. He finally spotted Harry, and made for the Gryffindor table.  
  
"You! You're coming with me, no matter how hard you fight!"  
  
Harry heard a distinct note of fear in this man's voice, and knew instantly who it was. No other Death Eater would be so stupid as to run into the Great Hall and try to attack a single person.  
  
"Not now!" Harry hissed, nervously looking from side to side. He crossed his arms in a chill, and his neck arteries stood out plainly in the light of the thousands of candles.  
  
"What do you mean, 'not now?' I'm here to capture you!" The Death Eater puzzled over this.  
  
"The Dark Lord hadn't bade you to make a public appearance, did he? At least, that's not what he told me." Harry queried, hoping this wasn't just some misunderstanding of his.  
  
"What? I-I don't know what you mean. The Dark Lord gave me specific instructions to capture you today."  
  
"You weren't supposed to do it here. Fool!"  
  
The Death Eater paced before the room, all eyes on either him or Harry. Harry stared around coolly before continuing.  
  
"At least now I can declare, once and for all, my loyalty to your side, fellow dark wizard."  
  
"My lord won't like this! You should hold your tongue, boy, if this was all staged." The Death Eater muttered.  
  
"You know nothing! I know why the lord doesn't trust you now, you are nothing but a bungler of plans."  
  
"Harry?" Hermione spoke up timidly. "Wh-what's going on?"  
  
"You heard me, Mudblood, I have an allegiance with the Dark Lord, my lord, Lord Voldemort. If not for this rotting bungler here, I would have been able to keep this secret far longer, but I guess now is the time to pledge my loyalty." Harry sneered a sneer that would have rivaled Malfoy's best. "An you thought you all had me pegged, well, I guess this must come as just a bit of a surprise." Harry chuckled, madness shining in his eyes.  
  
"Harry! Why you little . . . "  
  
"I'm a little what, Weasley? You have no pureblood pride whatever. How can you possibly know what is right and what is wrong?" Harry's voice was low with icy venom.  
  
"But he killed your parents!" Someone shrieked, Harry didn't know who it was.  
  
"And a good riddance in my life! I grew up with Muggles, and learned the truth about them (the filthy rodents!). If I had grown up with those Muggle- loving freaks-" Harry's jaw visibly tightened. "-I would not know truth from false, they were a nuisance to the world, if ever there was one."  
  
"I'll flog you!" Ron shrieked, angrily.  
  
Harry turned in his seat and shot him a glare so full of hidden meaning the entire hall fell quiet. Ron shrank back from the shorter boy, fear written plainly on his face. Harry's eyebrows shot up as his eyes widened, then he turned back to the Death Eater.  
  
"But-how . . . ?" The Death Eater stammered.  
  
Harry provocatively straddled his chair and grinned lopsidedly, evilly. He leaned back, the picture of evil, putting the Slytherins far to shame. His pointed ears stuck out a little from behind his hair, giving him a decidedly wicked devilish look. His long fingers curled around what was supposed to be the back of the chair, but was in his front.  
  
"Well, I let the Dark Lord come to me one night. It was as simple as that. Such power should be taught, and I wanted to learn of it before he killed me. He is more powerful than me by far, I was awe-struck when he listened to my plea to help him. So I was leant into the inner circle. You were only supposed to capture me so I could be initiated, and get instructions from him in person. Imbecile! You should have figured that!"  
  
"How can I know you are not lying to me?" Finally, the minion of Lord Voldemort seemed to get some common sense to ask questions.  
  
"What must I do to prove this to you?"  
  
"How can I truly know that this isn't just some elaborate trap to attack me?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"I don't know. You are the one who forgot I'm on your side. I have no reason to make up for it." Harry cooed, another evil grin gracing his features.  
  
"Give me your wand." Harry smirked when his friend said this much, and got up from his chair, strutted over to the man nonchalantly, and handed him his wand. Harry glanced from his wand to the Death Eater mask, sneered slightly, and took his hand away.  
  
"So you would willingly go with me?" The Death Eater asked, stunned.  
  
"Of course. Let's leave now." Harry linked his left arm with the man's right, and smiled up into the Death Eater mask.  
  
"Ok, well, my lord shall be pleased."  
  
The entire hall watched as Harry steered the Death Eater out of the hall, arms linked in a bond of friendship. Harry hadn't given up his wand the entire time, but no one knew that. He deftly slipped it out the sleeve of his robe, muttered Stupefy, and the tattered. Death Eater sunk to the ground unconscious. 


	3. Chapter 3: In Which Sirius Makes a Drama...

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story does include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
  
Chapter Three: In Which Sirius Makes a Dramatic Entrance  
  
The hall remained silent, the confused whispers of the students and professors alike filling the edges as Harry knelt before the Death Eater, patting at his clothing, looking for any magical objects they might have on them and taking them. Finally, he removed the mask, and the adults in the room all gasped, Snape looking horrified. It was Peter Pettigrew, the one they had all thought dead. His eyes were closed; the wrinkles of his features creating a great Labyrinth of his skin. His robes had bunched up around his knees, his once curly, brown hair now balding and streaked with gray. Professor Snape stared at Harry in what seemed to be something like a newfound respect for the boy, who was no longer a boy to the world.  
  
Harry stood slowly, weariness alight and well on his face, the candlelight dancing against his features. His face was such a striking resemblance of his father's, it seemed that they were one and the same person. His hair had once again covered his ears, the green light of his eyes had gone out with the stress of the night. When he spoke next, his voice was tortured, strained, as if the things he had said earlier in the night had poisoned his very being.  
  
"Will you listen to me now?" Harry asked politely.  
  
The teachers looked at each other, and Dumbledore, with a twinkle in his eyes, nodded his head for Harry to go on.  
  
"As some of you may not recognize him, this is Peter Pettigrew. I cannot continue until I make my point very clear. This man is a murderer, not my godfather. But that is far from the beginning of his story, and if I didn't start at the beginning, you would find yourselves confused."  
  
All eyes were on Harry, entranced, as they stared at his posture, the way he held his body, the way his green eyes glittered in the light. Suddenly, the teenager was regal, a commanding force. He had them riveted to their seats. It was not necessarily that he had a commanding voice, in fact he was quite soft-spoken. There was a calm in his aura that revealed no emotion, no fear, nothing. His eyes belied nothing, nor did his stance. There was a nobility about him that was being revealed, and they all noticed it, they all saw the change, and were awestruck at its beauty.  
  
"I suppose it must have started when Remus Lupin became a werewolf. He was very young, and the Wolfsbane potion hadn't been invented yet. Once every month, he became a bloodthirsty monster, and he had no control whatsoever over it. When he came to Hogwarts, he had to have a safe place to stay so he wouldn't infect the students. So they planted the Whomping Willow, just over a passage into an old shack that was built just out of Hogsmeade; his screams when he transformed led to the rumors of ghosts inhabiting the old shack. Dumbledore only encouraged them, an unexpected cover-up for Remus.  
  
"It didn't take long for him to make friends, in first year Sirius Black and this man who remains unconscious at the moment, and later, in third year, my father. It also didn't take long for them to realize that he disappeared every month, and they got suspicious. Eventually, they put it all together and realized that Remus was a werewolf.  
  
"Now, they had a reputation to be Marauders in their own time. Rather like Fred and George Weasley now. Of course they weren't going to just sit around and do nothing whilst their friend had permission to sneak out of the school every month. Amongst them they had the future Head Boy, and, with my mother's help, they came up with a plan.  
  
"You see, a werewolf is only dangerous to humans. So, naturally, if they had been with Remus while he transformed, they would be bitten. So who's to say they had to be human? After a year's hard work on their parts, Pettigrew needing all the help he could get (he was nearly a squib), they could all turn into animals, each with a different purpose. Sirius was a big, black dog, my father a stag, and Pettigrew a rat. They went by the nicknames of Moony (Remus), Wormtail (Pettigrew), Padfoot (Sirius), and Prongs (father). Whenever Moony was due to change, they would all get under an Invisibility Cloak, and head out to the Shrieking Shack.  
  
"All the while, Voldemort had been getting stronger. He was searching for allies, and the young were his targets. Pettigrew was terrified of him, so when karma brought Voldemort to him, he joined in fear of his life.  
  
"When they were done with school, my mother and father got married, but all the while there was a dark shadow on their lives. They had been the most successful Aurors, spies for the side of light. But their good friend, Pettigrew, was trapped between the sides, and eventually, his life ruled over theirs, and he told Voldemort that they were against him, and their undercover work.  
  
"When Professor Dumbledore got word of this, he immediately told my parents that they were in danger, and should go into hiding. With the help of a much younger Professor Flitwick, they used the Fidelius Charm to hide them from sight." Professor Flitwick blushed slightly at the mention of his name, and Harry continued.  
  
"The Fidelius charm is very complicated indeed. It is a spell where you hide something, normally a secret, deep in the soul of one person, and no body can penetrate them unless they choose to divulge the secret themselves. It is rather complicated, but when it was finished, Voldemort wouldn't have been able to find my parents if he ran into them on the street. Naturally, for such an important task, they would pick their greatest friend to be their Secret-Keeper, and their best friend was Sirius Black.  
  
"But Sirius was scared for his own life also. It wasn't that he didn't want to be the Secret-Keeper, it's just that he would have been the obvious choice. Voldemort would have immediately known it was him. In fact, they had already figured out that someone in their close-knit group of friends was leaking information to the Dark Lord, and he already knew they were planning to use a Secret-Keeper. So Sirius made the worst choice of his life: he put Pettigrew in for the job instead of himself.  
  
"Of course, Wormtail didn't give right away; after all, they were his closest friends. Eventually, however, he caved under the pressure, and told. He let out the secret.  
  
"We all should know this part of the story, so I won't bother to tell it. But the part that we don't know is what happened the next day.  
  
"Sirius, who had earlier guessed it was Wormtail when my parents had died, naturally went to avenge them. He found him in the middle of a packed Muggle street, but the conversation quickly went in an unexpected direction. Wormtail went on and on about how Sirius had killed my parents, all the while with his wand behind his back. Eventually, he blasted away half the street; cut off his finger (the 'largest part of him they ever found'), transformed into a rat, and went down into the sewers. He was claimed there by Percy Weasley, and brought to live the rest of his life in the shadows, at least, until two years ago, when he faked his own death yet again, and escaped to help Voldemort regain his power."  
  
All eyes turned to the stirring Peter, and Harry quickly Stupefied him again. There was complete silence in the hall following his speech, until Dumbledore stood and started clapping, nodding his head grimly in respect. The rest of the hall followed, smiling lightly in confusion over what had just gone on. It is never easy to throw away what you have believed for at least three years.  
  
"Very well said, Potter, very well said. If you will help me take him to another room, we can arrange for his arrest." The teachers sprang suddenly into action, the trance broken, and they helped move Pettigrew out of the Great Hall. Professor Snape motioned subtly to Harry to follow them out. Harry threw back his head and followed, glancing behind him, the presence of the Death Eater they had in tow resting heavily on his subconscious. They walked on until they got to a smallish room, and there they stopped.  
  
"I will get Arthur Weasley here right away, he needs to see to this." McGonagall spoke up, giving herself a job right away. She hurriedly turned Pettigrew back into a rat, and put him in a cage he couldn't get out of. "Potter, will you stay here and make sure he doesn't leave?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Right, thank you for volunteering, Minerva, Harry, but the rest of you must be designated jobs. Severus, I need you to get a Veritaserum potion, just in case Fudge believes but no one else will. Flitwick, Binns, and Hagrid, you all will make sure that the barriers to the castle haven't been penetrated. I, myself have some other work to do. Go." The teachers quickly vanished from the room, leaving Harry alone with the unconscious rat that was the traitor.  
  
Here there was mass confusion, but Harry was just stashed away in that small room with only a rat for company. The night wore on, the teachers going through a long list of things to do, the student body staring wide- eyed as they were ushered back into their commons, it would be much more appropriate, and important to the story, if we joined Ron and Hermione at this point, for Harry the rest of this night is extremely uneventful.  
  
Professor McGonagall had a firm hand in ushering her charges back to the Gryffindor Tower, and Ron glanced over his shoulder as they got in. Hermione held onto his hand tightly, the grip not allowing him to move away from her. He struggled slightly against her, then asked her loudly just what she was doing.  
  
"Ron!" She hissed. "I want an explanation too, but we aren't going to get it now. We'll just have to wait until Harry himself gets back. It didn't look like the teachers knew everything about it themselves, but we do know that Sirius will be free sometime soon. Let's just leave it at that."  
  
"Hermione! I need answers now! That was a bloody load of confusing-" Hermione cut him off before he could swear loudly in front of Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Listen to me, all of you!" She nearly screamed, her hair starting to come out of its bun. "You may get answers in the morning, and you may not. I don't know what Potter has in mind. For right now, the school is being checked for more Death Eaters, and we beg you to stay in Gryffindor Tower. You really won't have an option, I am going to seal the portrait, but for your own good, don't go looking for trouble. I don't know how long you will need to stay here, but be patient. If there is an over-expended amount of time spent here, you will have food delivered to you by the House Elves. That's all for now."  
  
Hermione went over to her Professor, dragging Ron behind her. She was going to find out about Harry, they deserved to know.  
  
"Professor McGonagall! Wait!" She stopped as her professor turned.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Is Harry going to be safe?"  
  
"Yes, of course. But if there's going to be a battle here, we'll need him, you should realize that."  
  
"Will he come back here, or will he stay wherever he is?"  
  
"It all depends on when Minister Weasley gets here to arrest Pettigrew, but to my knowledge no other Death Eaters have been found."  
  
"Thank you." As the Professor walked away, Hermione turned to Ron. "See? All we really had to do was ask!"  
  
"If you think that that's an answer, I swear you are worse off than I thought you were." Ron said, bemused.  
  
"It wasn't an answer, but at least it was SOMETHING. Your way, we would have just gotten in trouble and we wouldn't even have the little that we do know. You have to prioritize, Ron, or you won't go anywhere."  
  
"Are you my girlfriend, or my tutor?" Ron muttered through her hair, his arms snaking around her waist.  
  
"At the moment, both."  
  
"Ah." They leaned in to kiss, but got a pillow lobbed at them from across the room.  
  
"Really, you two, you're just so VULGAR!" Seamus practically screamed. Ron angrily lobbed it right back at him, hitting him in the head and causing Dean to go into a fit of giggles, while Seamus stared at him like he had just sprouted little white hairs.  
  
Hermione laughed against Ron's chest, not seeming to mind all that much that they had been interrupted by Seamus, who was now animatedly snogging with Parvatti Patil. Ron gently cradled her, and steered her over to a chair, where they could sit together. She was such a relief from what his life had been before. Before his father had got the promotion. When he had found out, he had been so torn. Yet another thing to live up to. Sure, Harry had gotten him through the basics, you know, like when suddenly everyone knew about everything he did, people taking pictures of him on the street, how to handle a lot of money at once, and people he didn't know just coming up to him and starting to talk, but a distance had been growing between them lately. Hermione had been a comfort in that time. She was something to devote his attention to. She was like something he had always needed, she was his lover (a/n: since the wizards are dying out as a race, they are encouraged to date earlier, and stuff like that (if you know what I mean)). Harry was just getting to be a side track, like the ice in your lemonade, or the bird in the blue sky. Still important, but his lover always came first. He didn't know how much this hurt Harry, of course, Ron isn't THAT conscious, but Ron did see their relationship needed work.  
  
"I hope Harry will be fine." Hermione sighed, staring ahead, not looking at the shirt she was playing with.  
  
"You sound like he's going off to war or something." Ron chuckled.  
  
"Ron, he MIGHT just be going off to war." Hermione sat up. "Besides, I need to talk to you about something."  
  
"What do you need to talk to me about?"  
  
"Harry. He's our best friend, and we're throwing that all away."  
  
"Hermione. Harry's perfectly fine with our relationship."  
  
"He seems so, but look at how much he does without us now. His schoolwork takes up most of the time, then he has Quidditch, both obviously being overloads, but he reads now. He will just sit there and read for hours and hours, making no contact with anyone, and usually, we either have a study date or are somewhere snogging. We've left him."  
  
"Maybe Harry likes doing things on his own." Ron was starting to get defensive.  
  
"Maybe Harry doesn't want to interfere with us." Hermione pointed out.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Don't you remember how happy Harry was when he saw that we were together? He was happier than we were about it. It was almost as if he was in love with us being in love. He was glowing, but that glow is starting to fade. He's so afraid that we will break up, that he gives us as much time alone as possible. You can't say you haven't noticed this. He doesn't want to ruin it for us." Hermione explained.  
  
"Well, maybe he likes being alone! Maybe he has a secret relationship with some guy that is too afraid to come out!"  
  
"Ron, if Harry were in a secret relationship, he would have a silly grin plastered all over his face all the time, not the kicked puppy look in his eyes."  
  
"He doesn't look like a kicked puppy!" Ron was angered, what did Hermione think she knew?  
  
"Well, I want you to at least talk to him."  
  
"Why don't you talk to him?"  
  
"Because I think he needs someone masculine to not be afraid to touch him!"  
  
"All right, I'll do it!" Ron grumbled, and Hermione went into a huffy air. This would be a long night.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry trudged up to Gryffindor Tower, the weight of a million worries on his shoulders. They hadn't found any other Death Eaters on the premises. A bitter happiness came from knowing Sirius wouldn't have to be on the run anymore. He was ecstatic that he would live with his true godfather now, but there was the lurking knowledge that Death Eaters were able to penetrate the shield around Hogwarts.  
  
The Common Room was quiet in anticipation, that much he could hear from the outside. He muttered the password to the Fat Lady, and she let him in with a few concerned words. No one said anything to him as he passed them, looking pale and exhausted. The dorm room was deserted, as he knew it would be, so there was no one to tell him to change in the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and miserably changed into his pajamas. He flopped messily down onto the bed. After a few seconds of quiet relaxing, he crawled slowly under the covers and went off into a deep slumber.  
  
But there were two very important things he had forgotten. McGonagall had told him that she would wake him when the minister got there. He was vulnerable in his sleep; he wasn't on guard. Anyone could observe him in this natural state. The other thing he had forgotten was that his ears were still growing ever the more elongated and pointed, and his hair was in dire need of a haircut. The tips of his ears poked out from the usual shield they had of hair. Of course, the shrewd woman that Minerva McGonagall was, she took the ears into consideration before waking the sleeping Harry up. He looked so peaceful, his skin shining in the moonlight. She sighed at the task she didn't wish to complete, but knew she had to.  
  
"Mr. Potter, the minister is here." She shook him gently, and he moaned at his need for sleep.  
  
"I'm coming, just let me change first. Where are we meeting, again?"  
  
"In Professor Dumbledore's office. Do you know the password? Of course you don't; it's 'Chocolate Frog.' I'll see you shortly."  
  
When Harry was finally standing outside the gargoyle, he heard a quiet mumbling sound from inside; apparently, they hadn't wanted to wait for him. He slowly climbed the staircase, opened the door, and was met by the faces of his old teachers, Professor Dumbledore, and Mr. Weasley.  
  
"Here he is!" Dumbledore smiled at Harry, and motioned him to sit in a chair next to him. "Come in, we were just getting started." Mr. Weasley smiled at Harry, who was looking very disheveled.  
  
"Now that we're all here, I would like to say that I have acknowledged the arrest of Mr. Pettigrew and his honors have been stripped. We can not arrest Mr. Black for being an illegal Animagi, for he has already served much more than the one year for that kind of crime. He has been fully pardoned." Mr. Weasley stated the business.  
  
"But there is the question: what are we to do now? There has been an attack on the school, we all thought this was the safest place for our students." Professor Flitwick spoke up.  
  
"Apparently, You-Know-Who is getting cockier. He is making up for lost time, I think. So far, he has killed eleven people this month, not to mention all the Muggle massacres. That he would even think to attack Hogwarts at such an early stage is inconceivable. Certainly these can't be the works of someone who has planned strategically for years." Professor Sinistra spoke up.  
  
"We do know that he is far greater than he ever was before. He has already proven that. The spell that brought him back was used to magnify his power, not just give him a body." Dumbledore informed them. Harry twisted a little in his seat.  
  
"Are you saying that he is nothing but a madman?" Professor Sinistra asked.  
  
"I don't think there's anything we can really do. If You-Know-Who wants to attack Hogwarts, there's no way we're going to stop him." Professor Snape muttered.  
  
"I agree with Severus, I think there's really nothing that we can do." Professor Sprout agreed.  
  
"Then say we sit back and do nothing. If there is another attack, then all we can do us wait for the parents to take their children out of school and we have no students left to teach anyway. Think about all the students that could have been killed tonight." McGonagall shot back.  
  
From this came a tumultuous response, everyone started arguing loudly across the table, until the anguished voices became more frantic, rising in their din. Harry hadn't said anything this entire time, he sat and waited for everyone to stop yelling. Finally, they quieted themselves, and Harry spoke up in a quiet voice.  
  
"Now, I agree with what I think Professor McGonagall was alluding to before we all started arguing like nine-year-olds. I think the school should be shut down at least for a short time. It was nearly shut down three years ago because there was a threat to the students, and now I think that Voldemort is a sufficient enough threat to us all. It would be too easy for him to attack the Muggle-borns and Aurors' children when they are all in one place. All he would have to do is show up here and do a round of killing, then take over the school and make it a school for the Dark Arts. If we all went home, it would be much harder for him to kill the students. They could be tutored, or given a homework schedule or something, that would need further looking into, and if they are at risk, they could enroll at another school, or go into hiding. It is too hard for us to try to protect everyone at once."  
  
There was a deafening silence, and Harry started to worry that his idea would be less than favorable.  
  
"I think I actually agree with Potter." Professor Snape whispered. Harry stared, taken completely aback by his old Potions professor. "The school doesn't have to be shut down for long, and it's really close to the Christmas holidays anyway. We could just plan to have an extended Christmas vacation."  
  
"I like what Severus and Harry have said. I think we should give them enough work to have them caught up to our lessons for whenever we decide they should come back." Professor McGonagall murmured. There were general sounds of assent filling the room.  
  
"The only thing is, we need to have the Governors' agreement before we do something like that and close down the school. I'll have to return to the Ministry soon, or owl them, or something." Mr. Weasley said. 


	4. Chapter 4: The Tides Crash Together

Chapter Four: The Tides Crash Together  
  
Harry stared idly out the window, the snow falling delicately to the ground in little spirals. It was one week before the Christmas holidays, and Ron and Hermione were both leaving him behind. Not that he was staying here. He was going to go home to Sirius; for the last week they had been discussing custody and signing papers and that sort of thing. He couldn't wait, but he also couldn't help but think that before he left Hogwarts something would happen to him. In fact, he didn't just think; he knew. It was becoming a pattern with him. It was a part of his abilities as a sylph.  
  
He knew she was coming before he turned around. That was his nature now.  
  
"Mr. Potter, I need to see you in my office at seven." Professor McGonagall briefly stopped to tell him.  
  
"Why not now?"  
  
"Because I am currently on my way to direct a detention." It was slight, but before McGonagall left, she glanced at Harry's ears, and he knew what this was about.  
  
How could he have been so foolish as to think that he could keep his little secret forever? People were bound to notice his ears eventually; they were bound to take into account his longer-than-is-normal fingers. It was nearly dinnertime, he had to go tell Ron and Hermione about his meeting with McGonagall. They would need to know. It wouldn't surprise him if Dumbledore already knew, and was just waiting for Harry to figure it out himself. He put his hands on his hips and blew a long breath out of his mouth. He looked at the grounds, noticing that Hagrid's cabin was still lit. He had a sudden urge to visit him, to confide in him. Hermione had done it back in third year, maybe it was worth a try. And plus, Hagrid was half giant, maybe he could give Harry a few stories to let him know what it was like to be only half a wizard.  
  
Harry pulled his loose-hanging cloak around his shoulders and stepped out into the cold, winter air. His breath streamed out in front of him, making patterns against the sky that was rapidly turning gold. If he were still a child, he would be pretending he was a train right now, and he had the urge to do just one childish thing, but he didn't; it wouldn't have been dignified. The snow clung to his coat as if a thousand light elves clung to it themselves. The pure crystalline beauty of the snow was something purely winter, something that could never be seen in the very darkest of summer days. The coldest, most delicate of beauties was snow.  
  
"Hagrid!" Harry called as he knocked on the door to the small hut his friend occupied. "Hagrid! It's me, Harry!"  
  
"'Arry, me boy, come in!" Hagrid smiled, red-cheeked, so Harry knew there was a warm fire in the grate. "It's been so long since yeh had the extra time to visit me. What 'ave you been doing with yerself without me?"  
  
"Dumbledore has me running circles around myself with school work, but he's been going easy on me close to the holidays, as I'm going home."  
  
"Home? To the Dursleys?"  
  
"No, I'm living with Sirius Black from now until I can get my own apartment. He said it might be tough, the first couple of days, but I can handle sleeping just about anywhere." Harry nervously twiddled his fingers in his lap together. He noticed Hagrid glance at him suspiciously. "But, Hagrid, to tell the truth, I came here for some . . . erm, help, on something, and I'd really appreciate if you'd hear me out."  
  
"What could you possibly need teh ask me about?"  
  
"Well, erm, I'm not really a wizard."  
  
"But you've been doin' so well in classes, how could yeh not be a wizard?"  
  
Harry decided to take a different track. "You know how you're half giant?"  
  
"You certainly aren' half giant, Harry, but are yeh somethin' else?"  
  
"Yes, Hagrid, have you ever heard of sylphs?"  
  
"Of course I have. The centaurs are always talking about them when I go into the forest. They've been saying that the ruler is on the run."  
  
"My father was a sylph, so I'm half sylph."  
  
There was a moment of silence whilst the eavesdropper outside ran back up to the school to start spreading the news. The fire crackled in its grate, sending a delightful show of sparks up only to disappear in their own smoke.  
  
"Your father was a . . . Then why did yeh come ter me first?" Hagrid stuttered.  
  
"Well, I just thought that you could give me some advice. I mean, since you're half giant, you could help me to know how people will react, if I won't be able to find an apartment because people won't want to cater to me, that kind of thing."  
  
"'Arry, yeh're more diff'rent than me then yeh think. I'm feared 'cause of what I am. Yeh won't be understood, some may fear yeh, but none will know much, if anything about sylphs. Yeh migh' just have to move away from the wizarding world, and into that of yer father."  
  
"How will I do that? It's hidden."  
  
"My guess is, another sylph will come and get you and bring you to their world. A dying race is very particular about who goes out and who goes in."  
  
Harry was uncomfortable for a few moments, until finally Hagrid broke the silence.  
  
"Does an'one else know about this?" Harry shook his head.  
  
"No, but I think Professor McGonagall is onto something. She asked me to see her in her office at seven."  
  
"Ah, McGonagall was always one to catch on to somethin' early."  
  
* * *  
  
"Well, what's a sylph?"  
  
"I don't know, but Colin said he saw pointy ears, long fingers, and sparkly skin!"  
  
"Like a fairy?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Did Potter tell anyone else about this?" Draco Malfoy cut into the fourth years' conversation.  
  
"Not that I know of. If you want more information, talk to Colin, he's the one that came up with the information."  
  
"Colin Creevey?"  
  
"Yes, but I don't think he knows that much more than he told."  
  
"Colin Creevey . . . " Draco didn't know what he was doing. The curse had a firm hold on him.  
  
* * *  
  
"Professor McGonagall, you wanted to see me?" Harry murmured as he stepped in the door.  
  
"Ah, yes, hello Potter. Sit."  
  
Harry nervously sat, noticing the piles of papers and books that filled this office, accumulating enough dust to kill someone who's allergic. Apparently, Professor McGonagall wasn't allergic to dust, or she would have cleaned more often. Harry moved against the hard chair, trying to find a good position to be uncomfortable in.  
  
"Professor Trelawney and I have put our heads together to do some research concerning your father, it may have helped us in the battle against You- Know-Who, but we have been shocked to find that there is absolutely nothing. He had no records, no family before he came to Hogwarts. His friends knew nothing about him before he attended school here. Then we looked up the genealogy of the Potter family, but there was no such family. He couldn't have come from a Muggle family because he was a pureblood, and he didn't attend any other schools. In fact, the orphanage that he lived at only had records of him at the time that he was attending school here. Tell me, does this sound usual to you?"  
  
"N-No, Professor."  
  
"No, it doesn't. Tell me, if your father's family isn't a wizarding one, then what are they?"  
  
Harry fidgeted. He still hadn't found a comfortable position in the chair. He had known it would be about this.  
  
"My father was a sylph."  
  
McGonagall leaned back from where she had been inspecting him closely. She looked mildly shocked, mildly relieved (at what Harry could not even think of) and very passive. Her features relaxed visibly as she took off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. She set them down, and they hung from a chain around her neck.  
  
"And just what are you going to do, Mr. Potter?"  
  
"I don't know. I mean, I don't think I can stay here, I think I'd be better off in the Otherworld. I don't even know if I have a choice. Do I have a choice?" He asked, green eyes pleading with her to understand. She smiled tightly at him.  
  
"There's only one way of knowing what your choices are, and that is to talk to the Headmaster about this. Come with me."  
  
Harry followed her out of her office and down the corridors. They passed a group of Slytherin fourth years that had been talking to Draco Malfoy (he was walking away) on the way, and McGonagall swept passed them without even giving them a look. They noticed Harry though. As he walked by, they looked at him cheekily, raising their eyebrows. They would scatter after he turned his back. The castle had a slight draft in it, but most castles do, and it was a wintry night. When finally the great stone gargoyle was in sight, Harry knew he wouldn't be staying here.  
  
* * *  
  
"I can feel it, Eldrid, our new ruler will be with us soon." Spoke one of the advisors.  
  
"As can I, but, you know, he is still but a child, of not even sixteen years. Besides, 'twill be a while before he can take the throne. He doesn't even know who he is to be."  
  
"What are you going to do about it?"  
  
"He will be confronted today, this very hour, by someone he knows and trusts. Of course, they will have no idea who the boy really is, neither will the boy, but after a few days, we can owl them, yes, owl them, that's how they go by post now."  
  
"A letter? You think you can explain all of this in a letter? Eldrid, Eldrid, Eldrid! There is no way! He won't understand."  
  
"Of course he will. He is our born ruler. I have only been ruling in his place until he is old enough to do it himself. I, of course, won't explain everything to him. We need to do that ourselves. But, I can say, I think he'll change things.  
  
"I'm sure he's realized that his father had to have a reason for going into the wizard world. He's smart. I'm going to go compile that letter now. Goodbye." With that, Eldrid left, and the advisor was left alone with thoughts.  
  
* * *  
  
Professor Dumbledore had been using one of the many interesting instruments when Professor McGonagall dragged Harry into the office. Dumbledore looked up from the work that Harry had been trying to figure out how to do ever since he first saw the instruments, and he motioned them both into two seats in front of him.  
  
"To what do I owe this surprising visit?"  
  
"We are having some problems with the placement of this student." McGonagall said, motioning to Harry.  
  
"What kind of problems?"  
  
"The problems that come when a student here isn't a witch or a wizard."  
  
"Ah. That, well, I think this is a very, very awkward situation."  
  
"Did you know?"  
  
"Well, I didn't know, per say, but I did suspect that he wasn't completely human. I've been curious, what exactly are you, Harry?"  
  
"I'm half sylph."  
  
"Oh, I could have guessed you were one of the Immortals. But, be that as it may, you can't stay here. There is an ordinance that strictly prohibits any being other than a wizard to be here." Dumbledore looked at Harry shrewdly. "So, unfortunately, I must expel you."  
  
Harry looked up from where he had been twisting his hands in his lap. He stared at Dumbledore, who looked back at him unconcernedly. A sense of panic swept through him, coursing through his veins and making him twitch. He couldn't be expelled, he had no where to go. And if he were, would the sylphs take him in? Would he just end up being a burden to Sirius for the rest of his life? There were so many questions, and he didn't know if he could ask them.  
  
"Harry, I think you know what to do. Hand me your wand." Dumbledore reached out across his desk, his hand reaching for Harry's wand.  
  
Harry slowly pulled his wand out; handing it over to his old professor, whom took it and snapped it in two. A part of him broke with that final motion, with that little twist of the two wrists; his entire planned out future was broken for him. He felt like shattering into a myriad of little pieces, bursting and sending the little pieces of Harry Potter over the wind and to the end of the Earth. Then, Professor Dumbledore did something that Harry never thought he would do. He gave the pieces back to Harry.  
  
"Mr. Potter, we are sorry to inform you that you can no longer attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. By the one witness that is here, you shall no longer return unless on business." He said formally. Harry stared at the broken pieces of his old life, and put them in his pocket for comfort.  
  
"I will inform Mr. Black that you will return to him for good when we reach the Christmas holidays, and I will also send an owl immediately to the leaders of the sylphs and explain to them your dilemma. Professor McGonagall, could you please take . . . um, this person back to the dorms? Harry may need some rest."  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
McGonagall stood and ushered Harry out of the office. They walked in silence for a while, Harry still obviously in shock. His footsteps echoed dully in the dimly lit corridor, as happens often with old castles. The shadows were nothing but strange patterns on the walls, and Harry glanced at them, wishing one would turn out to be one of his friends to comfort him. But, alas, none of them knew he was expelled. Yet. They didn't know yet. The cat would come out of the bag soon enough, and he'd be ready for it when it did. Harry glanced at his former teacher, who was stony-faced and obviously thinking dark thoughts about him. Then she turned to look at him.  
  
"You would have made a fine wizard, you know. A very fine wizard." She surprised him.  
  
"I could never be a wizard now. Everyone will see me differently." Again, came the thought in the back of Harry's head.  
  
"Yes, they will, but maybe you can start over with your James' people. Certainly they will accept you for who you are, and you can rebuild from there."  
  
Harry nodded his head. That was just being hopeful. He knew Dumbledore was writing to them, but he didn't know what he would do when he found out where he was going. This was just one big mess.  
  
* * *  
  
"Ugh, Ron, I can't take this anymore!" Hermione moaned, pulling at her hair.  
  
"Well, neither can I!" Ron wailed.  
  
Hermione had sucked in her breath and was pressurizing her temples at the moment. "Maybe we just need to take a breather."  
  
"What do you mean?" Ron asked, picking his head up from where it had fallen into his hands.  
  
"A break. I think it would be good for our relationship."  
  
"A break. I like that idea. What are the rules of this break?" Ron asked cautiously.  
  
"We can flirt with other people, go on one date, but we can't go steady with anyone else. Do you agree?"  
  
"Deal. I like those terms. But if we do want to go steady with someone else, we can break up, right?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
They stood, and faced each other, but didn't say anything. The tension between them sizzled; it cracked like bacon on a skillet. Hermione's hair had curled out of whack, and Ron's bangs had gone off on an adventure of their own. Their clothes were a bit rumpled, and they waited for the effect of their words to fully hit them.  
  
Hermione felt it first. A strange sort of relieving of tension, an odd little jolt of reality. She looked at her boyfriend, and he noticed it too. A sort of . . . release. Their problems weren't complicated anymore. Ron's eyebrows went up, a look of pure questioning on his face. Hermione shrugged her shoulders. She had never felt this feeling before. Ron was her first experience in the dating world. She knew she should really talk to Parvatti or Lavender, but she severely doubted if they would know what she was talking about.  
  
"Well, then, that was odd." They were the first words Hermione heard him say after the initial decision of being on a break.  
  
"You're right." Hermione let her hands fall to her sides and bounce there for a while. "Well, I have to go to the library. See you."  
  
Ron watched her go, a feeling of clarity running through his veins. Without Hermione as a girlfriend, he felt that he didn't need to be the one that always knew where she was. He didn't need to be a good boy anymore. He was just Ron, back to the way things were before he had a girlfriend. He didn't have to worry about who he was looking at, who he was checking out. He could check anyone out. Heck, he could walk into the Great Hall tonight and kiss the first girl he saw and Hermione wouldn't get mad at him for it. He didn't have to worry about Harry not getting enough attention anymore, because he could work on patching up that particular friendship. Ron smiled to himself. What he could give up and have a great time about it, he would never know. He walked up to the dorms (they had been in an empty classroom), and fell onto the bed.  
  
"'Lo, Ron." He heard someone say from the door.  
  
"Harry? Is it you?"  
  
"Yeah, its me."  
  
Ron may not notice many things, but he did notice the note of sadness in his best friend's voice, and he knew that he hadn't been treating Harry like he always had, so he decided to do it.  
  
"What's wrong, Harry?" He sat up and watched his friend trudge over to his bed, plunk down, and stare off into space. There was a moment of silence. Harry looked like he was in shock about something, but Ron didn't know what it could possibly be. When Harry didn't answer, Ron decided to sit next to him on the bed.  
  
"There has to be something wrong, or you wouldn't look like someone just died."  
  
"I've been expelled." Harry muttered, glancing at the hands that twisted themselves in his lap.  
  
"Expelled!? For what?!!" Ron exclaimed, getting angry at the unjustness of his friend being hurt more.  
  
"Well, you know how this is a school for witches and wizards?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm kinda not."  
  
"What?" Ron said after trying to work that out.  
  
"I'm not really a wizard. And, for that matter, I'm not really gay either."  
  
"How can you not be a wizard? That's ridiculous! You've been doing magic really well for ages!"  
  
"My dad wasn't a wizard either."  
  
"Harry, you aren't making any sense."  
  
"I'm half sylph."  
  
Silence.  
  
"What's a sylph?"  
  
"I don't really know how to explain it."  
  
"Can they do magic?" Ron prodded.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Are they like a little goblin or something?"  
  
"No." Harry hesitated, not really knowing what to tell Ron to get him to understand. "They have a different kind of magic then wizards. They were the first ones to get magic, actually. They gave it to wizards. They're kind of like elves, only not really, but . . . oh! It's ridiculous that I can't explain this! They have wings. Well, some do, there are two kinds. But they're one of the Immortals, and they . . . I don't really know all that much about them, but they have long fingers, pointy ears, a different arrangement in their palms, and they have shiny skin. Oh, and they're both boy and girl."  
  
"WHAT!? You're, you're, you're half girl?"  
  
"Yes, so I'm really not gay, just attracted to men. But since it was the sire and not the bearer who was the sylph, I'm more masculine than feminine."  
  
"Oh. Why didn't I ever notice these things in you?"  
  
"That's because I hid them." Harry drew the hair back from his ear, showing Ron that it came to a point. "And my hands." Harry showed Ron his fingers.  
  
"Ooh, they look so . . . different." Ron took hold of Harry's hands so he could look at them more easily. He turned them over to look at the circle in the middle of Harry's palm.  
  
"Yeah, well," Harry took his hands back from Ron. "I've been expelled for it, and I'm going home to live with Sirius, possibly for good. Dumbledore's owling the rulers of the sylphs, to see if they'd take me in, but for right now, I'm living with Sirius on a semi-permanent basis."  
  
"God. Our world is falling apart before our very eyes." They sat in silence, each thinking of what the other might be thinking.  
  
"Dean said that I should get you two for the ultimate game of- wait, what's wrong?" Seamus said as he came into the room and started bustling through his things.  
  
"Harry's been expelled."  
  
"What? What did you do?"  
  
"I didn't DO anything, except for the fact that I'm not a wizard." Harry muttered.  
  
"What? How can you not be a wizard?"  
  
"Easy. My father was a sylph." Harry was getting the vibe that he'd be repeating this conversation a lot.  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A sylph. Kind of like a High-Elve, only not."  
  
"Oh. Where are you going to go?" Seamus asked him.  
  
"I'll live with Sirius until it's all sorted out. Dumbledore is owling both him and the ruler of sylphs, so I can find out where I'm going to live."  
  
"Oh." Seamus said again. He waited a while, then asked, "Is this secret, or can I tell Dean?"  
  
"Of course you can tell Dean. He'll have to know why I won't come back after Christmas." Harry turned back to Ron. "Where's Hermione?"  
  
"She went to the library after we decided that we were on a break."  
  
"You're on a break?" Harry nearly whined.  
  
"Yes. We've been fighting too much, we both think it would be better for us." Ron looked Harry straight in the face while saying this.  
  
"How can you be so neutral?" Harry asked.  
  
"Well, it was kinda relieving. You had to be there."  
  
"Gol, am I glad I'm not in a 'relationship.' It's too complicated. So, I'll go tell Dean, but Harry, you really need to tell Hermione."  
  
"Don't worry. That's where I was going next. Ron, I need support, you come with me."  
  
"Okay."  
  
They walked together to the library, talking about Harry being a sylph, and that sort of thing. Ron was very enthusiastic about the idea that one of the only reasons that Harry had survived Voldemort was because he was immortal.  
  
"But, if I am going to live with the sylphs, I have a lot to learn. I mean, I don't know the first thing about how to get my wings out, or how to use sylph magic. The book that I read only explained it. It wasn't supposed to be a guide to how to use that sort of magic." Harry explained.  
  
"Well, a pox on that, you can always figure that out from other sylphs. But if you do live there, will I ever see you again?" Ron asked wistfully.  
  
"I don't know. It's really a closed society. But, maybe I could be a correspondant between sylphs and wizards. You know, like an ambassador, and I could see you then."  
  
"That would be so awesome! The only thing is, I want to see what it's like."  
  
"You want to see what what's like?" Harry queried.  
  
"The inside of the sylph world! Not very many wizards know about it (I didn't even know about it up till now), and it would be so cool to get to go there."  
  
They lowered their voices now that they made it into the library. Harry stared about him, looking for his other best friend. The bookshelves made it very hard work indeed, looking about for Hermione, trying their best to see around them. They were this huge barrier, blocking them from their goal. Harry stared at the enormous amount of books on each shelf, and, as he remembered correctly, he knew there were even more shoved between the crevaces that were the spaces between shelves. His mood had really brightened with Ron's enthusiasm, and he was actually starting to look forward to starting this new life. It was beginning to look exciting, not knowing what was going to happen to him. Ron looked as though he was trying really hard not to whistle. Harry smiled at that. Ron was back. Now all they needed to do was find Hermione.  
  
"There she is!" Ron exclaimed, gaining them a dirty look from Madam Pince while doing so.  
  
And there she was. She looked as though she was lodged between two extremely huge volumes of encyclopedias. Harry smiled at the sight of her. He wished he could take a picture to last him for a while. If Hogwarts had yearbooks, this would be the perfect picture of Hermione.  
  
"Hello, Hermione." They both said as they pulled up chairs.  
  
"Well, hello, you two. Why are you smiling?" Hermione asked, glancing at the small grins plastering her friends' faces.  
  
"I've been expelled." Harry said.  
  
It took a moment for this news to sink in, but when it did, Hermione totally lost it.  
  
"You-you, you were . . . what?"  
  
"I was expelled because my father was a sylph, and Hogwarts isn't allowed to take in students that aren't witches or wizards."  
  
"WHY are you smiling??" Hermione was getting louder.  
  
"Hermione, calm down. Pince'll throw us out. He's smiling because this is an extraordinary new experience for him. There are hardly any people who went to Hogwarts that ever get to be inside the Otherworld of the sylphs. Its exciting!!" Ron explained.  
  
"But what if we never get to see you again?"  
  
"To tell the truth, I don't even know if they'll accept me back in. Their society is so closed that they might not. I might just live with Sirius until I can find my own flat. I could live as a Muggle, or as a Muggle- relations wizard at the Ministry. Hagrid was expelled and he still lives in the wizard world. Why shouldn't I be able to?"  
  
"Oh, Harry, you don't know how strange it'll be without you here! You're one of the things that makes this school run! Without you, who will the Slytherins tease? Who will be the star Quidditch player? Who will all the girls sigh at when they take one look at them? (A/N: Did that sentence make any sense at all?)"  
  
"Oh, Hermione, someone will take over. Someone took over for Percy when he graduated. And about the girl thing, they've already stopped doing that."  
  
"Who will cause trouble to no end and force me to pull my hair out in frustration?"  
  
"That's easy. Ron." They laughed together, and Hermione leaned over in her seat to hug Harry.  
  
"Everything will work out." Ron said, joining the hug.  
  
* * *  
  
The next morning at breakfast, Harry received a letter.  
  
Now, in the great scheme of things, this in itself isn't a very peculiar occurrence. People get mail all the time. It's no surprise when a student at Hogwarts gets mail from a friend or family member. Some even got the morning post delivered to them. But for Harry, this was THE letter.  
  
"Well, open it! Open it!" Hermione nearly squealed.  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
I don't want to beat around the bush. You're smart, we know you're smart, we've been watching you all these years. You have to know that your father had a reason for living in the wizard world, she didn't just run away. He knew she'd have you, and he knew that one day you'd be great. Voldemort was so shallow that he only wanted to kill you for the reason that he could take your life and study it, see what made you immortal. Oh, he gave us quite a scare for a while there, but you have proved yourself, and you have survived, and so we will be pleased to explain more when you are escorted here by one of my servants. All will be explained there, it is too great to be explained in a letter that could be intercepted. You must come, your escort will arrive at your godfather's house the day after your holiday of Christmas.  
  
Your Leige, Eldrid  
  
"Well? What does it say?" Ron asked excitedly.  
  
"It confused me."  
  
"How? What did it say?" Hermione gasped.  
  
"It said that an escort would arrive at Sirius' house the day after Christmas to bring me to the Otherworld. But it also said that Voldemort was shallow in his reasons to try to kill me, and that there was a greater reason that would be explained when I got there."  
  
"What kind of greater reason?" Hermione was totally shocked.  
  
"I don't know. I'll find out when I get there."  
  
"What's all this?" Neville asked, leaning into their conversation. By now the entire school had heard of Harry being a sylph through the efforts of Colin Creevey.  
  
"Harry's going to the sylven Otherworld." Hermione said.  
  
"Yeah, but the letter says that there was a greater reason for Voldemort to want to kill me that was never thought of by him. Apparantly, I'll find out when I get there."  
  
"Don't say the name!" Ron and Neville scolded.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Wait. How can you go if you're going to school here?" Neville asked, confused.  
  
"I'm not, anymore. I've been expelled because of this contract that says that no being other than a Muggle-born witch or wizard or a witch or wizard can go to school here."  
  
"Somehow I've never heard of that." Neville puzzled.  
  
"Oh! Hasn't anyone here read Hogwarts, a History?"  
  
"No, Hermione, they haven't." Ron said.  
  
"Well, if you had you would know that the contract was signed by the school governors in 1963." Hermione explained huffily. They all just stared at her. Only Hermione would remember something that boring from a book that was thousands of pages long.  
  
"Why?" Harry asked.  
  
"Some witches and wizards were offended that their children were going to the same school as the children of centaurs, or giants, or, in your case, sylphs unnerved the students because they were so perceptive." Hermione shrugged.  
  
"Ah." There was silence for a bit. Harry stared down at his food. He should have been enjoying it, but he wasn't. He knew that Dumbledore would make his speech sometime this week telling the students that Hogwarts was closing down, but he didn't know when. Not very many people knew about his expulsion, and he meant to keep it that way. They'd figure it out when he didn't return from Christmas break.  
  
"Harry?" Hermione started. "Harry? Have you written to Sirius yet?"  
  
"Dumbledore said he'd explain to him about the expulsion." Harry muttered, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. Hermione caught on.  
  
"Well, I think you should write to him and at least let him know that you won't be staying with him forever. I mean, I think he'd like to hear from you." Hermione whispered.  
  
"You know what, Hermione? You're right. Sirius would like to hear from me." Harry dropped his voice down to a whisper. "And it would give me something to do to pass my spare time away." He got up and started to leave. "Bye, Ron, see you after classes." He called over his shoulder.  
  
As soon as Harry left, Ron turned to Hermione. "Don't be such a nag." She promptly slapped him.  
  
* * *  
  
Dear Sirius,  
  
I'm so excited to come home to you! I've been waiting for this since the end of my third year. However, that's not the reason I wrote you. I've been expelled, as you know, because of my dad being a sylph. But, the sylphs say there's an important reason why I was nearly killed by Voldemort, and they need to tell me what it is. So, they're sending someone to pick me up just after Christmas. I just thought I should let you know.  
  
Your Godson, Harry  
  
PS-Ron and Hermione say "hi".  
  
Harry sealed the envelope, and sent Hedwig flying with it. This would get really complicated. Fast.  
  
  
  
A/N: Whew! That chapter's done! No pressure, but reviews are really, really, really nice. The next chapter is gonna be one of those where I don't know how long it will be, or how long it'll take me to post, I'm just gonna go with it, but I do know that there will be some very interesting developments. If you can't tell, I'm obsessed with the TV show Friends, so there might be some little scenes that remind you of it throughout the story. 


	5. Chapter 5: Of Blood

Rating: PG-13  
  
Genre: Romance/Fantasy  
  
Warnings: See chapter 4  
  
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be sitting at home writing the fifth book right now, NOT posting on a ff.n site. I mean really, think about it people. I don't own this, don't sue me.  
  
Chapter 5:  
  
Of Blood  
  
Harry stared out the window of the train. Dumbledore had announced that the school would be closed for a little longer than was usual to enhance spells, and that students would be informed of when they would open eventually last night at dinner. The school had gone into an aftershock, but Harry figured that they should have thought something like this would happen eventually because f the Death Eater being able to break in. Of course the teachers at Hogwarts would want to get its guard more ready for an attack.  
  
Dean was residing in their compartment, calmly playing a game of chess with Ron (and losing horrendously), as he had had a fight with Seamus. Hermione was reading some uninteresting nonfiction book that Harry wasn't really interested in. he had a sneaking suspicion that it was supposed to be about sylphs, or that she'd be researching them in the future. It was still hard to believe that he'd never see Hogwarts again; it was his beloved school that had gotten him through a lot in his life. He cringed at the possibility that he may never see it again.  
  
"Hey, Harry? Could you help me? Please!?" Dean called over to Harry, breaking him from his musings. Harry smiled lightly and joined him.  
  
* * *  
  
"I still can't believe you beat him!" Hermione squealed.  
  
"Gee, Hermione, thanks for the moral support." Ron muttered moodily.  
  
"Oh! Ron! You can afford to lose at least once in your life!"  
  
Harry lifted his heavy trunk and walked toward the end of the compartment. Ron and Hermione were still bickering playfully in the background; Dean had long since gone to change out of his school robes and into his Muggle clothes and they hadn't seen him since. He heard footsteps behind him and Harry knew it was Ron and Hermione running to catch up to him.  
  
"I can't wait to see Sirius!" Harry said through his smile. He was positively certain that if he weren't carrying a heavy trunk behind him, he'd be bouncing off the balls of his feet. He knew he looked positively ridiculous, but he didn't care.  
  
From the crowd emerged such a welcome face that Harry's face very nearly split into a grin, and he dropped his trunk to run madly through the crowd and jump on the person he was so happy to see.  
  
"Sirius! Oh, Sirius, you don't know what I've been through!" Harry happily smiled into Sirius' shoulder.  
  
"Well, hello Harry, it's very nice to see you in public." Sirius said through his smile. "Are you just never going to let go of me, or are you going to show me to your friends so I can say hello to them too?"  
  
"Oh, come on then. You can put yourself to good use and help me with my trunk and Hedwig." Harry unlinked his arms from Sirius' neck and led him over to the abandoned luggage.  
  
"Hello, Ron, Hermione." Sirius greeted them, a huge grin he could see playing across Harry's features.  
  
"Hello, Sirius." They chorused, smiles gracing their faces.  
  
"Oh, my! You got your hair cut!" Hermione gasped.  
  
"Yeah, I went to a hairstylist after I got released. You would never believe! They looked at me like they had to cut around an extra hand growing out of my head." They all laughed, and Mrs. Weasley came over to join them.  
  
"Well, hello Sirius. Enjoying freedom?" She commented, only stuttering slightly compared to the last time she had beheld the ex-convict in public.  
  
"Hello, Molly. Yes, yes, I think I'm starting to quite enjoy walking around in a big crowd."  
  
"How did you . . . " She asked, puzzled.  
  
"After the . . . Triwizard Tournament . . . was finished, I was the dog as I'm positive you remember (Mrs. Weasley went red)) and I listened very closely to conversations and realized that you were called Molly. Are you married to Arthur Weasley? I vaguely remember, but I didn't know you all that well before . . . " His eyes clouded over slightly.  
  
"Oh, well, that was an unforgettable night." Mrs. Weasley agreed gently, trying not to remind Sirius of that night too much.  
  
"OI! Ronniekins!" A chorus of two voices floated over to their little group, signaling that the twins had found them. They came into view, dragging their trunks. "I can't believe you wouldn't introduce us to your friend's godfather."  
  
"Yes, yes, I think it was very rude of you."  
  
"What exactly should we do about?" At this point there was no stopping them.  
  
"Well, I don't know, we'll have to think of something quite adequate over the break."  
  
"Yes, yes, quite adequate."  
  
Mrs. Weasley was about to tell them off, when Sirius started to laugh.  
  
"You remind me so much of myself when I was your age. God, that sentence made me sound like I was old or something! But anyway, I would tell you stories, but that might give you ideas, and I don't think your parents would appreciate it."  
  
"Or Ron, for that matter." Harry added.  
  
"Oh, I wish I didn't have to go to the other side to meet my parents!" Hermione exclaimed wistfully. "But I do. There's nothing I can do about it. Goodbye, Harry." She sobbed lightly as a tear went down her cheek, and she hugged him quickly so she could hide them.  
  
"Hey we'll see each other again sometime. It's not like I'm going off to die." Harry murmured, returning their companionable hug.  
  
"I know, it's just, when I'm not sure about things like this, I freak out. Like, I don't know when I'm going to see you again." Hermione tried to say through her tears.  
  
"I'll write. How's that?"  
  
"That's fine."  
  
Ron stepped up and offered his hand to Harry, who took it, and was thrown into a hug. "Don't forget completely about us now, will you?"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
* * *  
  
The rain that the clouds had been holding back all day had finally burst them and was coming down in torrents. Sirius looked over at Harry, who was staring out the car window. He seemed quieter than usual. Sirius wanted to know what was wrong.  
  
"Harry? What's wrong?" He asked.  
  
"Nothing." Harry turned to his godfather.  
  
Sirius gave Harry a knowing look, and continued. "When everything is 'normal' you aren't just staring out the window at the rain."  
  
"No, really, it's nothing."  
  
"Are you having guy problems? Because I really wouldn't know how to help you if you were."  
  
Harry laughed at him. "No, I've just closed the book on a very important time in my life."  
  
"If I wasn't driving, I'd hug you. But I am, so I'll tell you this. Dumbledore must've had a reason to expel you. If he thought it was best for you to stay at Hogwarts, you'd still be there. But he didn't think that. He thought it would be best for you to leave Hogwarts. He must know something."  
  
"He knew it was okay to write the sylphs, so he must have been in contact with them for a long time. I just wonder how much he knew . . . " Harry trailed off into his thoughts.  
  
There was silence for a while, then Harry noticed a small grin on Sirius' face.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I have a surprise for you!" He giggled a little, sounding a bit like a schoolgirl.  
  
"A surprise? What kind of surprise?" Harry was torn between glee and suspicion. He still hadn't forgotten the Marauders' reputations from when his father was still alive.  
  
"I think you'll love it!"  
  
* * *  
  
The car pulled in a long driveway leading to a small house in the country. It had vines crawling up the sides, and the blue paint underneath was starting to peel off. There was a stone birdbath in the middle of the front yard, and it looked like a long field was behind the house, just over the small brook. There was a looming barn off to the side, and a gardening shed just by where the car was parked. Sirius looked over at Harry expectantly.  
  
"It's so pretty!" Harry gasped.  
  
Sirius smiled. They ran through the rain with the trunk and Hedwig up to the house. Harry closed the door behind him, and stared around at the entryway. It didn't seem like his godfather had ever left. There was a coat rack with boots underneath it, a small mirror hanging on the wall, a welcome mat on the inside (Harry decided not to ask), and a doorless entrance into the main house.  
  
But on a second look at the mirror, Harry saw something he didn't expect. Reflected in the mirror was a happy little girl with pink cheeks; she was taking off her long cloak, and smiling up at whomever was there in the room with her. When she took off her hat, Harry saw that her long hair was a striking blonde, and her eyes a startling green. On closer inspection, he realized her eyes were his own.  
  
"Well, go explore! I'll get your things to your room." Sirius gave him a little push from the back.  
  
Harry leaned forward toward what he presumed was the dining room, with a long table in the center. Just to the right of the table was a stairway that Sirius went up with Harry's things. He peeked over to his left. Harry ducked his head slightly to the left and crouched down a bit in order to see into the living room. Before he went any further, he took off his muddy boots, for fear he might just forget. He went forward, the doorless frame beckoning him toward it. The first thing he noticed was that the rug he was standing on was ornately woven in designs of red and gold, and he was severely reminded of an Arthur Conan Doyle novel. The walls were a deep red, a sort of morbid but still cheery cherry color. Then he saw it.  
  
Right to the left of a fireplace was an elegant Christmas tree, its branches standing out proudly, declaring that it was the ruler of the living room. Harry walked up to it, the skirt red with green around the edges. But it wasn't decorated.  
  
"Sirius-" Harry turned, only to see that the Animagi had walked into the room and was behind him.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Why isn't the tree decorated?" Harry tried to recover from the slight shock of not sensing Sirius behind him by casually putting a hand in his pocket.  
  
"Well, Harry, this is my surprise to you.  
  
"Let me tell you a story." Sirius sat down on the couch, and Harry took it as an invitation to sit down next to him.  
  
"Well, actually, it isn't really a story. Or that exciting either. But you have to know it to understand this surprise." Sirius continued in a fatherly tone. "The first Christmas that your mother was pregnant with you, there was some tension around this time of year, because for one thing we were all seventeen, and Lily was one of the youngest Hogwarts students to ever get pregnant so early. Well, anyway, so Remus and I had an idea. We thought that it would be great if we could get everyone together to celebrate Christmas. Of course, we weren't living on our own, so we had to improvise a bit with the Shrieking Shack.  
  
"It was his job and his job only to pick out the tree. I don't really think he trusted me enough to cut down the tree without hurting anything. Anyway, it was my job to collect everyone and get them out to the Shack. But when we got there, the tree wasn't decorated. All of the ornaments we had painstakingly collected were still in their boxes. I internally freaked out, but somehow remained calm. I asked Remus why the ornaments weren't up, and he said he thought it'd be a good thing for us to do together.  
  
"When we were all done, the Christmas tree was about the sorriest thing we had ever seen; but we had had so much fun putting up the ornaments that we did it together every year until your parents died."  
  
Sirius' voice faltered when he came to the end of his story, and Harry didn't know what to do exactly. His instincts told him to hug the man, and he did without a second thought. Sirius pulled away after their little moment was over.  
  
"Well, anyway, I have a lot of the same ornaments and stuff we used back then in my attic, and I was thinking that today and tomorrow we could continue the tradition."  
  
"Is Remus coming too?" Harry asked.  
  
"Well, yes, but not today. He's just coming for the decorating tomorrow. All we have to do is dig them out of their boxes."  
  
Sirius led him out to the stairs that he had taken Harry's stuff up on and the ascended them quickly. On the second floor, Harry barely had any time to look around before Sirius went careening up the second flight and up into a trapdoor (which he supposed was the attic). Harry followed his excited godfather up the stairs, shaking his head and smiling gently to himself.  
  
Once he had stuck his head fully into the attic, Harry looked around, awestruck. He had never really been in an attic that was this cluttered before. Apparantly, it was used as a library as well as an attic. The walls were lined with dusty tomes of magic (mostly transfiguration, potions, and herbology), the bookcases wallowing in the dust. Off toward a window, there was a writing desk, and a very tattered one at that. It looked like something that may have come out of the Shrieking Shack (and Harry thought that it was very likely that it did.) After all that space was taken up, there was also a telescope next to the desk and voluminous boxes of anything and everything piled all around the middle of the floor. Then Harry noticed the red ropes that are often used for museums.  
  
"Sirius, why are those ropes here?" Harry asked, brow furrowed, and trying to find his godfather.  
  
"This was used as a museum while I was in Azkaban. They thought that I would be a famous criminal someday or something and so they preserved my house exactly the way it was the day of my arrest. People would come up here and just want to move everything, so they had to put up the ropes. I just haven't gotten around to moving them yet." Sirius explained, quickly making them disappear into nothing with his wand.  
  
Harry climbed into the attic, unknowing of what to do exactly.  
  
"Unfortunately," Sirius was saying, "I kinda forgot which one of the boxes the Christmas stuff was in, so we have to search through all of them until we find them." And with that, Sirius was off again, exploring into one of the corners of his house.  
  
Harry sighed, looking down into the volumes of boxes yet to be looked through. He just knew the dust was going to get to him eventually. He shrugged, aware that he was talking to himself through body language. He stared down at what looked like a box full of books, but he was curious, and opened it anyway. The first book he came across was a huge 300-some page novel. It was entitled My Black Rose, and on the inside cover, he read a description of the book, and it was about what it'd be like to be a Death Eater's child while Voldemort was on the rise. He thought it looked like an interesting read. Then he looked at the author.  
  
Lily Evans.  
  
His heart stopped. Why hadn't anyone told him his mother had been an author? And, according to the reviews on the back, a rather good and best selling one at that. His world seemed to make sense now. She must have published some secrets that she wasn't supposed to, and so Voldemort saw it as a threat. Therefore, his parents would have been targeted.  
  
"Sirius?" Harry leaned back onto his calves.  
  
"Yes?" Sirius leaned over some boxes.  
  
"What else did she write?"  
  
Sirius was thoroughly intrigued now, and he crawled over to where the young half-sylph sat. He took the book in one of his hands, and he looked briefly at the cover, before his eyes returned to the far-away look they so often had. He turned to the back coverslip.  
  
"There she is. Waving at us." He sighed.  
  
Harry glanced at his godfather.  
  
"She was always so liberal and sure of whatever she did. She had never seemed like the type that would have a child out of wedlock like she did. It was all a big scandal, parents wouldn't let their kids read what she wrote anymore, for fear she might have just passed something on and make them want to have children and be like her. Of course, she handled it with grace, and told newspapers that she looked forward to having you in her life. She was so beautiful." He quickly wiped his eyes.  
  
"James was lucky. She wanted to be with him. I was always between girlfriends, and since she's died, I've thought about her more and more often. If only I had been more mature, or less wild, or something, you might have been our child. She was a genius, really. It only figures that she'd marry the one man that could challenge her ways of thought, that could keep up with her wild notions. Everyone says you look exactly like James, and act exactly like James did, but I was his best friend, and there's that graceful, merciful side to you that Lily gave you." Sirius took the box in his hands and took out all the books. They amounted to three.  
  
"What she wrote was so challenging of our viewpoints, it scared many adults. She wrote the most bizarre things, mostly from her experiences as an aurer. People wouldn't admit that they were more closely related to Voldemort than they let on, as her books pointed out. They were threatened by her. With that, she became very popular all over the world in the teenagers, who were almost naturally rebellious. She was, supposedly, killed for her efforts."  
  
Harry stared at the smiling picture of his mother at sixteen. She waved at him, green eyes sparkling, and he saw a part of himself in her.  
  
* * *  
  
Two hours later, they still hadn't found the Christmas decorations. They were apparantly stored away in some remote box that hadn't been out in ages. Just like all the other things that were up here at the moment. Sirius laughed at Harry, who was trying in vain to find his way out of the little fort of sorted things he had created, and life was at a standstill for the moment.  
  
"Oh! Here they are!" Sirius almost shouted.  
  
"You've known where they are this entire time, haven't you?" Harry accoused.  
  
"Well, yeah, but I thought that this would be a cool thing for us to do together. Just because I knew where they were doesn't mean I can't have fun looking." He smiled to himself.  
  
After much ado about nothing, the ornaments had made the precarious journey down the two flights of stairs and were happily sitting in the living room. Harry sat down in the windowseat, watching the snow that had once been rain, fall delicately to the ground. It felt so good, just sitting here, watching the snow falling, and not really having to worry about anything but what he was going to do next. He sat there for a moment, and suddenly realized that he still hadn't unpacked.  
  
"Sirius! Where's my room?" He called into the delves of the house.  
  
"Oh, yeah, when you go up the stairs, your room is the second one on the right. I'm sure you will want to make yourself comfortable." Sirius explained, from the kitchen.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Harry climbed the steps and found himself in a fairly open hallway, considering there were several rooms on either side. The second door on the right still had a sign that said guestroom on it, and the guestbook was just to the left. Harry smiled as he opened it, looking at all the names of people who had visited this house, thinking they were in the home of a mass murderer. The Animagic dog downstairs was quite tame, no need to worry about him savaging anyone. Harry walked into his room, and plopped right down on the spacious double bed that was directly in the middle. His head lolled off to one side, his glasses bumping the heavy quilt gently.  
  
He sat up, looking around the room for the first time. He was completely surrounded by a beautiful sky blue, but the wall behind him was a deep plum, with the word shhh . . . written in ivory. Harry didn't know that Sirius could be so . . . feminine. The furniture didn't consist of much, mainly a poofy chair to sit in, and a small bedside table. It was no wonder this was the guestroom. It seemed like the guests wouldn't be in their room long. Harry walked around the room in his bare feet, looking at the pictures on the wall. They were all rather tastefully done, in black and white, with the sun clearly shining off from one side. A few of them weren't moving, some were, but Harry had really always preferred the ones that didn't. Rather than being in the moment, among the people in the picture, you were rather looking at the beauty of the moment the picture was taken. Harry noticed that a lot of them were of a rather pretty woman, a young girl, of about seventeen. Harry resolved to ask Sirius who it was during dinner.  
  
As there wasn't a dresser, he realized that there would be no unpacking, no anything, really. Harry resolved that he was tired, and flopped back onto the bed. He let out his breath, his arms and legs splayed out any which way. It had been an interesting day, to say the least. He turned onto his side, letting his eyes fall shut in the process.  
  
* * *  
  
It was nothing but a child. Nothing but a small, crying child. That is, a child without a face.  
  
A screaming child. The shrill cries escaping the boy and ricocheting off the walls, he seemed to be having some sort of seizure. He lay there, convulsing on the ground, whimpering softly to himself as a shadow loomed over him.  
  
And such a shadow it was. It wasn't only a shadow; it was the shadow. The shape was made up of miniature corpses of all the people that had been killed at the hands of this thing. This thing that loomed, that made the shadow. The one shadow that's very exitance depended upon that of the suffering and dying lives it led. Led into darkness. There was no stopping it. The boy was frantic, but his face wouldn't show.  
  
Then, a taller man came into the picture. Neither of them had a face, but Harry thought he knew what that they were related.  
  
With a will, what looked like an angel came hovering down to kneel beside the boy with no face. The boy who was afraid of his own father. Harry knew it was a sylph. He knew that much from the shape of the body, it was one of those things he just knew. It's dark hair flowed down its waist until it came to the point where it had just passed the upper body and was moving onto the legs. He couldn't see the sylph's face, but he knew it was in pain. Every streak of the sylph's body was wracked with pain; etched with horror. The sylph's flowing dark hair seemed somehow alight with an otherworldly hint of greatness, of goodness. He knew it was a ruler.  
  
The dark shadow made a move as if to cover the boy completely, as if to kill him, but the sylph spit at its feet, and it retreated, but not completely. The father made a move as if to restrain his child, but found he didn't have to. The boy was on puppet strings. The darkness that surrounded them was starting to disappear, and the child was becoming uncomfortably comfortable in the sylph's arms. He returned the hug.  
  
Almost instantly the sylph passed out, but the tears that had been bound to follow its wretched life fell freely onto the boy's chest. And the strings disappeared; and the father went off into the shadows, and for the first time the shadow completely left them. And Harry got a good look at the sylph's face.  
  
It was himself.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry awoke, emotionally bruised and sweating. His scar was trying to tear itself off his head, but the rest of his skin wouldn't let it. He realized that he hadn't even been under the covers when he had dropped off. He shoved his hair away from his face, reliving every last second of it. It had been so real. Yet it had been so surreal. He thought he understood some of it, but he could never be sure.  
  
He was pleased to see that Sirius had been in to check on him, but had decided not to wake him. There was a glass of water on the bedside table, and a note saying that he thought Harry would be thirsty. Harry greatfully drank it down to the last drop.  
  
He already knew some parts of the riddle, he knew that the shadow was Voldemort, and that in the end the boy had been relieved of his own personal burdens as well as those of Voldemort. He turned once again towards the one window in his room, watching as the sun gently fell beneath the horizon. There was a slight knock on the door behind him.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius poked his head in and Harry turned in one fluid motion. "It's time for dinner."  
  
* * *  
  
That morning, Harry slept in as late as was humanely possible, the worries that had followed him at school floating away on a wing and a dream. His godfather had treated him to many stories of mischief and the Marauders at dinner, as well as a grilled cheese sandwich and a salad. The hot chocolate had been superb, and, most importantly, comforting. He had chosen not to tell Sirius about the dream he'd had, it would only put a morbid feeling on his first night here.  
  
When Harry awoke, dazed, the crisp sunlight was already flowing in through the window and onto his pillow. He turned his head, rubbing his eyes on his hand in the process, and stared at the blue winter sky. It was a nice day. He checked the time, ten o' clock, and quickly got out of bed. Hadn't Sirius said Professor Lupin would be here at noon?  
  
After frantically finding his robe in the many piles of unsorted clothes in his trunk, he went down the hall and past the stairs into a large bathroom where he would take a shower. It was furnished like one of those really old Victorian bathrooms, all white, with a tub that had claws and wasn't attached to a shower. He sighed, realizing that he'd have to boil in his own filth, and turned on the hot tap (which was frustratingly close to the wall of the tub.)  
  
He took off his clothes, feeling highly conscious that this wasn't Hogwarts, the Quidditch changing rooms, or his 'home' on 4 Privet Drive. He tentatively dipped his feet into the tub, leaving his towel on the sink. The water was actually quite warm, and he felt completely relaxed, well, compared to before he had gotten in. He closed his eyes, reveling in his meditation, and sighed deeply. And a thought struck him. The boy from his dream had to have been a Slytherin. Why else would he have been afraid of his father? He settled down to mull over this thought, and dunked his head under the water to further wash his hair.  
  
That is, he tried to dunk his head under water, but it was blood.  
  
He tried very hard not to scream, and calmed himself. He logically told himself that the blood had to have come from him, that he was the only thing other than the tub that had touched it. Looking down, he realized that it was pooled around his upper body. Now completely freaking out, he felt himself starting to pump adrenaline through his body, and he knew that his sweat was mixing with the water. Putting his face in his hands and rubbing at his eyes, he muttered incoherently for a few seconds, it was something about happy places, he looked down again and felt it.  
  
There was something pouring down his face.  
  
There was something, more specifically blood, pouring down his face from his eyes.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Sorry it's so short, I was planning to make it longer, but I figured I had to stop it here. Ha, ha! Cliffie! I thought it was powerful to end the chapter here. I will finish the next chapter soon, and it should be about the same size as this one, but it will take a while to get up because I'm going on a vacation soon.  
  
I'm sorry if there are tons of spelling mistakes, but the spell check on my computer is really messed up. As I type 'boy,' it thinks it's spelled wrong.  
  
And, just a note: in my story, sylph is pronounced 'SY-ilph,' not 'silf,' like the one in the dictionary. So, I am actually accurate. The pronoun, well, just interchange the name of the specific sylph with 'he' and 'she' and you have basically got it down. See the letter in chapter 2 for an accurate version of this. It's very confusing. And the whole 'pertaining to sylphs' is 'sylvan.'  
  
One more thing. When I said that I said 'no pressure on the reviews,' I LIED!!!!!!! Pleeeeeeasse r/r, it would make me feel all special and appreciated. 


	6. Chapter 6: A Thousand Pinpoints of Light...

Honestly, do I really have to keep doing all these warnings and labels and stuff like that? I think you get the picture.  
  
Chapter 6: A Thousand Pinpoints of Light Come Together to Land on Liamh  
  
Harry stared at his eyes in the mirror. Luckily, they had stopped bleeding earlier and he just wanted to make sure that it didn't look like anything was wrong with them. However, his eyes, apparantly, had a different idea.  
  
The pupils had turned a painful looking reddish-purplish, and the sclera appeared to have a ton of blood vessels popping simultaneously. His irises were clouded over, and had taken on a funny greyish tinge. He moaned in frustration. They looked better behind the protective shield of his glasses, and he just had to hope that Sirius and Remus wouldn't notice. He felt extremely vulnerable, exposed, like he was on a showcase. He sighed, and headed downstairs with the presents he had bought for Sirius and Remus in Hogsmeade.  
  
As soon as he had made his way to the dining room, Sirius shouted over to him.  
  
"Oi Harry! I know teenagers sleep late, but this is ridiculous!"  
  
"Sorry, I had a minor crisis about my glasses, but in the end, good prevailed, and I found them." Harry said, smiling brightly to see his godfather absolutely covered in whatever he was cooking.  
  
"Whatever are you trying to do, Sirius?"  
  
"I'm making string soup!" He said, proudly smiling at his godson.  
  
Harry carefully walked over to Sirius. This didn't look like a good idea. There was flour all over the place, Sirius was holding a huge knife that was just about ready to turn his hands into a Peter Pettigrew look-alike, and was that soup blue?  
  
Harry quickly and deftly made Sirius put the knife down, and looked over at the recipe book that was currently trying to look as though it was innocent to the mess the Animagi had caused. Fruitcake. He was trying to make fruitcake. The other recipe book, that was currently hanging to dry after an apparent trip into the blue soup, had the page opened to a recipe for a kind of string soup. Harry looked from this recipe book, down to the soup, and back again.  
  
"Um, you know it isn't supposed to be blue, don't you?" Harry asked tentatively.  
  
"It isn't?" Sirius countered innocently.  
  
"No, Snuffles, it isn't." (1)  
  
"Well, I made it blue, so tough." They quietly laughed together for a while.  
  
"So, what was the crisis with the glasses?" Sirius queried.  
  
"Oh, I forgot where the nightstand is." Harry said, effectively blushing to add to the lie.  
  
"Maybe it's a good thing we aren't going to be living together too long. I don't think we'd have enough stability to keep the house running properly." Sirius chuckled.  
  
"Now I'm really worried about you when I have to leave."  
  
"Oh, don't be Harry. One dysfunctional person can survive on their own, but two can just get them into even more of a mess."  
  
They were silent for a short while, each pondering nothing.  
  
"Do you want help, Sirius?"  
  
"No, that's all right." Harry gave him a skeptical look before going to send Hedwig off with presents.  
  
* * *  
  
When Lupin knocked on the door, Harry was just finishing up his letter to Ron. He looked up, and quickly walked to the door. Sirius was right behind him, playfully shoving him over so he could open the door. Harry stood off to the side, nursing his injuries from the playful push Sirius had administered him.  
  
"Moony! Come in, do you have the ornaments?"  
  
"Yes, of course I do, Padfoot, how incompetent do you honestly think I am?" Lupin held up a box of an elongated shape, and grinned roguely. He kicked off his shoes and walked into the dining room, spotting Harry in the process.  
  
"And Harry! There you are, I was wondering when I'd see you."  
  
"Hello, erm . . . " Harry stuttered, not really knowing what to call his former professor.  
  
"Oh, just call me Remus. I was one of your father's closest friends, you're practically my nephew."  
  
"Hello, Remus." Harry said, smiling warmly and reaching for his hand, but instead got a hug.  
  
Quickly, Remus had his coat off and was hanging it on the coatrack. With a second glance at Harry, he cocked his head to the side.  
  
"Did you know . . . that your eyes . . . are . . . brighter than they normally are?" He asked, his own eyes glazing over lightly as he looked at his best friend's godson. Harry looked down at his shirt.  
  
"Oh! It must be because I'm wearing green." He grinned as Sirius moved in to look at his eyes, shrugged, and moved on to say that they had to get going. Remus and Harry smiled at each other, an understanding reached between the two.  
  
"What are we to do about lights?" Sirius asked, scratching his chin. He turned to Remus. "Lily was always the good one with the charms." Remus raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah! I almost forgot that you two competed all the time for the top spot in charms!"  
  
"Right. Well, I think that we could do just a little . . . " he trailed off as he sized up the tree. "Erubescere stemma!"  
  
The tree lit up, blushing tons of luminescent colors, their rays merging with the tree's boughs. Sirius started clapping, and Harry felt himself slipping back into a childish wonder that he always felt when he was surrounded by magic. Innocence. He was innocent again. Remus flushed happily as the colors whirled around the room.  
  
"There, Moony, I knew you could do it!" Sirius shouted. Remus gave him a look.  
  
"Do we have tinsel?" Sirius asked.  
  
"Tinsel? No, but we do have these little hook things that you just put on the branches." Remus countered, handing them to Sirius.  
  
Sirius smiled and started to attack the tree.  
  
"Here, Harry, while Padfoot is amused with the hook things, we can put on some of these ornaments." He leaned over and ungracefully tumbled onto the couch. Harry cautiously sat in front of him.  
  
The first thing he noticed upon looking at the ornaments was that a lot of them were the colors for Gryffindor. The next thing he noticed was that the ones that weren't the Gryffindor colors were homemade. There were bulbs, bells, strings of popcorn, something that was extremely beautiful and reminded Harry of the buildings in St. Petersburg, and a star for the top. Remus took out the strings of popcorn and examined them.  
  
"Perhaps a bit moldy, but nonetheless still good." Harry wrinkled his nose, taking out an ornate ornament and standing to go to the tree.  
  
After several hours of Sirius becoming re-fascinated with the Christmas decorations, and the living room looked like a tornado had gone through it. Harry laughed at the two of his father's friends, their age showing through their laughter. He wondered what it would be like if his father and mother had been older when they had him. He didn't really want to dwell on things that were only going to make him sad, so he just shook his head to himself and followed them into the dining room.  
  
"Now, you all, I have something very special planned for dinner this evening." Sirius said, mock proudly.  
  
"Oh, no, I've had way too much exposure to your cooking, Padfoot, why don't you just let Harry cook?"  
  
"He wasn't interested." Sirius looked over at Harry, a small grin on his face.  
  
"Well, you never asked, Sirius. Maybe if you had admitted you needed help, we wouldn't be eating . . . "  
  
"Harry! Don't spoil the surprise! You have no idea how much . . . thought and planning went into this meal, and I think you should just leave all that be!" Sirius exclaimed, feigning anger.  
  
"Oh, just go on with it, Sirius! Get out the supposedly edible food and we can get on with it!"  
  
Sirius disappeared off into the hallway, and through to the kitchen, and Remus leaned toward Harry.  
  
"Really, Harry tell me what it is, I'd rather not have another nasty surprise like I did with the whole rock cake episode." He whispered conspiratorially.  
  
"On the menu, we have blue soup and fruitcake." Harry enunciated in his best French accent.  
  
"Oh, well, I've had his fruitcake before, and if you like French bread, try some, it ought to be safe." Remus quickly sat up straight and snapped to wary attention as Sirius walked into the room with his pathetic excuse for string soup. He showed it off to the werewolf, who blanched, and said, "Well, if that just doesn't make my mouth water with anticipation."  
  
"Did you come up with the recipe by yourself?" Harry teased.  
  
"Yes, and I must say, I love the color." Remus added.  
  
"Oh, shut up."  
  
"Just . . . how . . . did it get to be so . . . blue?" Remus obviously suspected something.  
  
"Well, in the book, it said to put the parsnips and string in, and the only string I had was blue, so the dye came off into the water." Sirius admitted.  
  
"I can't eat that anymore. Sorry, Sirius, but I have a problem with dye. It doesn't agree with my digestive system." Harry gently set his spoon in the center of the table.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry stared into the fire that was roaring behind the beautiful, yet slightly off-kilter, Christmas tree in the living room. Remus had gone home with the present Harry had gotten for him (a cup that never emptied.) He had his knees drawn up to his chest, his bare feet resting on the couch.  
  
Sirius had gone to bed earlier that night, declaring that he hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, apparantly waking early to "cook" their banquet. Harry hadn't slept well for a while, the only exception being last night, and, frankly, he didn't want to. He was still trying to figure out the dream from last night.  
  
Obviously, the child was in Slytherin, and Harry automatically ruled out that it was a girl. Blaise Zabini, who was thin enough to be the boy in the dream, was ruled out because he was a quieter Slytherin, the most ambitious, and not one that was likely to shy away from an opportunity that would be easily obtained. Crabbe and Goyle, well, let's just say they speak for themselves. Then there were all the other Slytherins, but he knew that he personally had to know the boy, which only left one person.  
  
Harry heard the staircase leading down to the dining room creak with the weight of his godfather. He looked up from his analytical study of the way the flames danced. Sirius rubbed his eyes before walking into the living room and seeing his godson (?) still awake on the couch.  
  
"Harry? What are you doing still up?"  
  
"I haven't slept well for a while now, so I think I've become an insomniac."  
  
"I'll ignore that. Is there something bothering you?"  
  
"No, not really, I just have a question." Harry mumbled.  
  
"Ask away."  
  
"Who . . . was the woman?"  
  
"You might have to be a bit more specific about that. There are lots of women."  
  
"In the pictures. In my room. I noticed that it was mainly just the one woman. You know, with the small smile, kinda like Mona Lisa's."  
  
Sirius visually paled, saddening from the memory that Harry had brought up from the delves of what years in Azkaban had done to him. He stumbled a bit toward the couch, hesitated, but sat down next to the young sylph. His eyes were trying to hide themselves, to hide the pain, but he eventually showed his true Gryffindor bravery and looked up at Harry.  
  
"Her name was Ophelia."  
  
Sirius faltered a bit, but somehow was encouraged by the gently probing eyes that were such a brilliant green they nearly glowed in the dark. Cat's eyes . . . he thought to himself.  
  
"She was truly the most beautiful woman I had ever met. Irish, she was half muggle and had been sent to hide away with me because her father had been handling Death Eater propaganda. At first, things had been rough, but we got used to living together.  
  
"James and Lily couldn't have been more happy. You were still just barely concealed in her womb, and Ophelia had loved the idea that she'd be around a baby quite often. We had started out as friends, but a growing attraction scared us, and we barely spoke for weeks and weeks.  
  
"She had been planning to go into interior design, but, as she was in hiding, she had nothing to do, so she completely redid my house. I had been aspiring to be a photographer, but I was no rich man, and I needed the money from my apothecary to carry on. She was quite aware of her stunning good looks, and offered to model for me, and those pictures you saw were taken by me."  
  
"Why didn't you make them move, like most photographers in the wizard world would?" Harry queried, intrigued by the story.  
  
"There are some things too beautiful to truly capture, and I didn't want to break the spell."  
  
There was a moment of silence, in which Harry looked over at his godfather, who was close to tears.  
  
"As it turns out, it was not me she should have been hiding with, but your parents. I came home one day, and found it in ruins. Her body had been left for me to find in her bed, her eyes poked out so she stared up at me with nothing but two bloody holes. There was a note. It read perhaps she should have been more like her father."  
  
There was a growing silence as Sirius' shoulders started to heave, sobbing the dry sobs that had been waiting to come for so long. Harry brought him into his arms in a hug, patting him on the back and muttering words he thought would have been comforting.  
  
"I would have married her, had I had the money to get her an appropriate ring." He sobbed into the now wet front of Harry's sweater.  
  
"I thought as much, Sirius, I thought as much." Harry whispered into Sirius' hair.  
  
* * *  
  
Winter came full force soon, bringing the beautiful snows of Christmas that everyone would be cursing in a month, but for now, everything was beautiful. Sirius would have never admitted this to Harry, but he was relieved to have talked about Ophelia's death to someone; it was like physically lifting a burden. Harry inwardly feared the day after Christmas, when he'd be taken away to the world of the sylphs, never knowing when he'd see his friends again. But for now, it was Christmas day, and he was sleeping.  
  
"Harry! Wake up! Oh, wake up, Harry!" Sirius shouted, throwing a pillow at his godson's head.  
  
"Ow! What-" Harry mumbled, sitting up and retrieving his glasses, though they didn't help him see at all anymore.  
  
"Happy Christmas!"  
  
Harry fell back into bed, his groan barely concealed, smiling between the hands that covered his face. "Happy Christmas, Sirius."  
  
"Oh, come on, I want to give you your gift!"  
  
"Yep, okay, I'm up, coming." Harry incoherently grumbled.  
  
Harry tried as he might, but couldn't exactly see where he was going, and stumbled toward the stairs. Sirius caught him, tactfully decided not to say anything, and helped him over to the stairs.  
  
"What time is it?" Harry moaned.  
  
"5:00."  
  
Harry glared at Sirius, who shrugged cheekily and led him over to the Christmas tree. There was a heap of presents for both of them and Sirius had conveniantly separated them into two piles.  
  
"You've been up for a while, I see?"  
  
"Well, I didn't want to wake you up too early, but I just couldn't resist."  
  
"Sometimes I wonder how you can be over thirty."  
  
"Come on!" Sirius eagerly pulled the tired sylph over to the presents.  
  
"Open mine first! Open mine first!" Sirius was ecstatic. Harry was starting to wonder just how early Sirius had gotten up.  
  
"Okay! Okay, I'll open yours first." Harry was trying somewhat to keep from laughing at Sirius' immaturity.  
  
Harry looked at Sirius with a question in his features. "Okay, right, calming down now."  
  
Harry carefully pulled away at the paper, and found a box on the inside. It was long and thin, and on the cover he could see that it came from Flourish and Blott's in Diagon Alley. He lifted it, and found that it was extremely heavy. Holding his breath, he lifted the lid, and gasped.  
  
It was a full set of his mother's books.  
  
He looked up at Sirius, who was absolutely beaming at the awed look on Harry's face. Harry immediately forgave him for waking him up at 5:00 in the morning.  
  
"Th-thank you, Sirius, thank you so much." He hugged Sirius round the neck, Sirius nearly being bowled over onto the floor.  
  
"I thought you'd like them." Harry pulled away from the hug, glancing up at his godfather, finally becoming awake enough to be excited.  
  
"Now open mine."  
  
"Okay!" Sirius grabbed the present from Harry and ripped viciously at the paper. He very nearly dropped the present out of the box, but Sirius couldn't help but wonder why his godson would give him jewelry.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Open it first!"  
  
Sirius opened the small box, and fingered the elegant silver chain that he saw there. He delicately took it out, trying not to restrain it on the box's opening. What appeared to be a charm fell into his hands, but rather it was more of an extension of the cord. It was knotted into a design that made it appear to just be able to come apart at will.  
  
"Okay, now what is it?"  
  
Harry smiled at Sirius, and he moved over to show his godfather the charm. "It's a Celtic knot called a Maze. It is supposed to help you to brave life's struggles, and emerge a more centered, stronger, and triumphant person."  
  
Sirius looked down at the necklace that was in his hands, and realized that this was supposed to help him with his demons. Such a thoughtful gift he had never received. "Thank you, Harry, thank you."  
  
He slipped it over his head, then grinned at him. "Now you have to open one!"  
  
* * *  
  
It appeared that Hermione had given Harry a blank book that never ran out of pages, Ron gave him a year's worth of chocolate frogs with a note that said that no matter where Harry had to go, he shouldn't have to go there without chocolate frogs. Remus gave him a trumpet. Harry was still trying to figure this out. Mrs. Weasley sent him a sweater, possibly the best one she had ever made for him. Hagrid sent him a gecko. Harry was still trying to figure this one out as well. And, the last present puzzled him more than all the others. Possibly even more than the trumpet.  
  
"What's the note say?" Sirius asked, leaning over to look at what Dumbledore had written to Harry.  
  
"I know you don't know how to use this now, but I have heard that in the future you will. Professor Albus Dumbledore." Harry read. He opened the box, and a sword fell out.  
  
Harry looked at it. The handle was simple, a single piece of metal spiraling above where he'd put his hand, making it appear as if it was made of magic. The blade had an inscription at the bottom in runic letters that somehow Harry could read. The rest of the sword was covered in various knots that Harry couldn't know the meaning to yet. He lifted the sword into his hands, finding it to be feather light and easy to control. With a shudder, he wondered when he'd have to use it. He put the sword in its mahogany leather sheathe, which was also inscribed with the runic letters.  
  
"Why . . . how would Dumbledore hear that I'd be in battle?" Harry asked Sirius.  
  
"Dumbledore's always known more than anyone, even more than the Minister of Magic did at times. He was in contact with whoever is ruling the sylphs, and probably passed this on to you. All I know is that it certainly isn't a wizard's sword." Sirius stared at the sword in awe, and he lifted it in its sheathe. "Oh, Harry, its too heavy!"  
  
"Heavy? I didn't think it was heavy."  
  
"Must be protected by a sort of spell." Sirius pondered this thought. "According to the fairy tales I was told when I was little, sylphs are more magical than wizards, so their spells can't be broken unless they want them to be broken."  
  
"How do you know about sylphs?" Harry queried.  
  
"When I was little, tales of sylphs were more popular, but they weren't correct. I always thought they were just a mixture of fairies and pixies, but then I met your father, and you, and I had to completely erase that vision from my mind. But that's all I know."  
  
Harry stared back down at the haunting inscription. This sword is the sword that the greatest ruler of sylphs will use. Guard it well, all who come by it, you hold a race's future in your hands. Harry felt the lives of all those who had died at the blade of this sword, their very souls rushing to his fingertips. He felt their hatred, their lust for power. He wondered when it had been forged, of what great fire had this sword been created from.  
  
"Harry? I have one more Christmas surprise for you." Sirius cut through Harry's silent reverie.  
  
"You do?"  
  
"The Weasleys, Remus, and the Grangers are coming for Christmas dinner here." Sirius grinned from ear to ear.  
  
"They are?" Harry sat there, stunned, then, "Are you cooking?"  
  
Sirius laughed, then fake pouted, and Harry laughed with him.  
  
* * *  
  
As it turned out, Harry ended up doing most of the cooking, with Sirius at his side, assisting in the cooking of the ham. Harry stared at him, smiling as he nearly dropped the pan of goose on the floor. As Harry didn't trust him with any job that involved mashing things, Harry did the mashed potatoes and cranberries, while Sirius was being carefully supervised with the tart. The only thing that Harry felt Sirius was competent enough to make was the hot chocolate and tea, so Harry left him to his own devices while doing that.  
  
Harry finally had the time to fall onto the couch in the living room, but was despaired to see that wrappings were all over the place. He decided it didn't matter, and went to put his presents in his room.  
  
Hedwig hooted loudly at him, and he went over to feed her an owl treat. It was, after all, Christmas. He didn't think that he should leave his things out; they'd just need to be transported tomorrow when he left. He opened his trunk and carefully put his sword at the very bottom. From there he packed away all the other things (minus his Weasley sweater; he was wearing that.) Harry kissed Hedwig's beak and practically flew down the stairs when he heard the doorbell ring. Sirius got to it first, and he saw Remus' silhoutette in the doorway.  
  
"Remus! Hello, Remus!" Harry said from behind Sirius.  
  
"Hello, Harry, Sirius, I do hope that Sirius didn't cook again tonight, that would have been a disaster." Sirius playfully punched him in the shoulder, both of them grinning.  
  
A few minutes later, the Weasleys arrived, they were made up of Ron, Mrs. and Mr. Weasley. Percy was with his current girlfriend (he had broken up with Penelope a few years back.) The twins were being interviewed at Zonko's ("on Christmas?" had been Mrs. Weasley's words when she found out.) Hermione arrived with her parents, and she immediately hugged Harry in greeting.  
  
"Woah, I never thought you'd live in a house as nice as this right after being in Azkaban for so long!" Ron exclaimed in awe, staring around at the dining room.  
  
"Tactful, Ron, tactful." Hermione whispered sarcastically in his ear.  
  
"Well, they had made my old house a museum while I was in Azkaban, and so when I was pardoned, they just gave it back to me. Although, I must say it is kinda weird." Sirius answered calmly.  
  
"Oh." Ron looked down at his feet, feeling awful that he had said that. "Where do you sleep, Harry?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, I should show you guys that, shouldn't I?" Harry turned to the adults to excuse them.  
  
"Come on, follow me, up these stairs." Harry said, talking to Ron and Hermione with his back turned.  
  
At the top of the landing, Harry turned and saw that the two were looking everywhere. He smiled to himself. It was like back when they were first years, exploring Hogwarts for the first time. He padded down the carpeted hallway and opened the door to his room. He opened the door, stood in front of it, and said "Ta da!"  
  
Hermione walked right in and made herself at home, looking around at everything. She noticed the pictures, and motioned Ron over to her.  
  
"Harry? Do you know who this woman is?" she asked, curious.  
  
"Her name was Ophelia. She had been Sirius' . . . love. Before he got put in Azkaban." Harry explained. Hermione was about to ask more questions, but realized that Harry didn't want to answer more questions, so she let it rest.  
  
"Oh! I have to show you something!" Harry dug around in his trunk, and brought up the sword.  
  
"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed when he saw it.  
  
"Do you know what the writing is?" Hermione said, examining the sword's intricate detail.  
  
"Yes, I suppose it's a prophecy." Harry shrugged, trying not to make it sound like a big deal.  
  
"Oh, well, cool." Ron muttered. "But, why d'you have a sword? You don't even know how to use one!"  
  
"Um, Professor Dumbledore insinuated that I'd know how in the future, maybe I'll have to learn as a sylph." Harry explained, looking down at the sword in his hands.  
  
"Can I see the hilt?" Ron asked. Harry nodded, unsheathing it and lifting it so the light caught on the tip of the sword. He thought it strange how perfectly it fit in his hand. "Woah! I don't know much about swords, Harry, but I can tell you one thing! That isn't just a sword, it's not even a wizard's sword! Probably a sylph sword."  
  
"Really? By the way, Ron, how would you know?" Hermione joined in.  
  
"Remember the Giant Chess Set we had to get past in first year?" They both nodded. "Well, I paid close attention to the swords, and they were blunt, and broader, not slim and elegant like this one. I knew they weren't Muggle swords, because they'd be too hard to come by."  
  
"I'm impressed." Hermione said approvingly.  
  
"Can I hold it?" Ron pleaded.  
  
"Of course, just don't drop it, it's quite heavy." Harry smiled at his friend. Ron gave him a look, as Harry seemed to be having no trouble whatsoever holding the sword. He took it in his hands, eyes widening at the weight of it.  
  
"Holy-" Hermione shot him a glare, and Ron coiled away from it, not finishing his cuss. "I mean, wow, Harry, this is too heavy! How are you supposed to fight with it?"  
  
"I think the correct term is to 'fence,' or to 'duel,' not to 'fight.'" Harry annoyingly corrected. "And I think as I learn it won't seem so heavy."  
  
"Harry! I want to know what the prophecy is! Now, what is it?" Hermione queried impatiently.  
  
"Well, it says right here-" Harry pointed to the runes on both the hilt and the sheath. "'This sword is the sword that the greatest ruler of sylphs will use. Guard it well, all who come by it, you hold a race's future in your hands.'"  
  
They sat pondering for a moment, but then Remus stuck his head in the door.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt, but Sirius needs help with the cooking. And, Harry, I think you'd better help him after the whole blue soup episode."  
  
Harry smiled, while Ron and Hermione shared a confused look. "I'll be right down."  
  
They all trooped down to the living room, where it looked like poor Mr. Granger was being bombarded with questions about life as Muggles (Harry was pleased to see that Mr. Weasley hadn't changed a bit since being elected Minister of Magic.) Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger were having a conversation of their own, that Remus looked ready to join. Hermione and Ron went off to sit on the couch and talk after Harry motioned that it was okay to do so. Cautiously, Harry approached the kitchen, carefully opening the door to peek in and check on his godfather.  
  
"Having problems?" He asked, a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"Yes! What do I do after the goose's done?" Sirius begged, pleading with Harry to help him not mess this up.  
  
"You leave it, all we have to do is prepare the food now." Harry took up a dish, and Sirius, seeing his example, knew what to do now, and did his part in getting the dish servable. After this, Harry took up most of the dishes, leaving Sirius with the rest, and they paraded into the dining room with the food.  
  
"Dinner is served!" Sirius called into the living room, and the whole party came in to take a seat. Somehow, there were just enough chairs for everyone to have a seat. Harry automatically knew it was a spell.  
  
"Is there anyone who has to say grace?" Sirius asked, conscious that he wasn't that active a Christian.  
  
"I'll say it." Mr. Granger volunteered. With a few more words, they were all able to dig into their meals.  
  
The conversation that evening was scattered, Harry, Ron, and Hermione just talking about anything, Mrs. Weasley joining in wherever she was wanted, between Mrs. Granger and everyone else. Sirius and Remus were holding ship down at their end of the table with Mr. Weasley and Mr. Granger, telling stories about the Marauders, now that Fred and George weren't there. So, roughly, their conversation sounded something like this:  
  
"And so we were all in Spain-"  
  
"Really? Harry, you'll have to write us-"  
  
"What's it like? Being a mother for a living?"  
  
"And somehow, it got left on the train-"  
  
"Don't worry, I could never stop writing-"  
  
"Oh, sometimes I wish I had a job, but there is so much-"  
  
"'Where's my pass? Where's my pass?'"  
  
"Yeah, we'll always know each other."  
  
"So, what's it like to have to nag people about their hygiene every day?"  
  
Needless to say, the evening ended all too quickly for them (by that time good friends.) Before they knew what was happening, they were saying their goodbyes and leaving. As was expected, Remus was the last to leave, staying a little while longer to help Sirius and Harry clean up. When they were all finally gone, Harry sat on the couch, a mug of hot chocolate with cayenne in it in his hands. The remainder of their night was reflected in the mess that lay at his feet. Harry stared at the flames, their dancing, lithe figures entrancing him. He felt tired; an almost unfamiliar feeling taking control of his eyelids.  
  
"You tired as I am?" His godfather indistinctly mumbled.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Go to bed, Harry. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow." With a waving motion of his hands, Sirius dragged Harry up from the couch and up the stairs. Harry couldn't even remember getting ready for bed before he dropped off, hypnotised to sleep.  
  
* * *  
  
The next morning, Harry awoke to the world oblivious to everything around him, he was just exhausted and tried to go back to sleep. Then he remembered that he was going to be picked up today by the sylphs. He lay in bed, breathing in the air of this room. In such a short time, he had come to think of it as home. There was nothing unfamiliar about this house; most of the things in it were Muggle and didn't come as a surprise, making him comfortable there. He supposed everything would be extremely different when he got to the sylvan underworld. He wouldn't know anything. Suddenly, he was vaguely reminded of how much this was like the first time he had switched worlds. It was an almost exact parallel to when Hagrid had picked him up for Hogwarts.  
  
Stewing over that idea, he got out of bed and went down to breakfast. He couldn't find his godfather anywhere, apparantly he was still sleeping. Harry smiled, and went to go take a shower.  
  
He had no idea when the sylph would come for him, so he decided to be ready as soon as possible. After his shower, he threw on the most comfortable clothes he owned, as they would be the best for traveling. For the second time he descended the stairs, and found Sirius dutifully drinking his coffee and making toast for the two.  
  
"Morning, Harry." Sirius smiled at him. "Are all your things packed?"  
  
"Yes, I did that last night." Harry put his hands in his pockets, looking over at his godfather.  
  
"Do you have any idea when you're leaving?"  
  
"No, none. The letter I got just said that they'd be around to pick me up the day after our holiday of Christmas." Harry sat down in a chair that was near the counter.  
  
"Here's your toast."  
  
The rest of the morning was quite a blur to Harry, in getting ready, and the hours started to get tedious as he waited. Finally, around noon, there was a knock on the door.  
  
Harry went to get it, and stopped short.  
  
There, standing there, was one of the most beautiful of people he had ever seen. The sylph was long, elegant, the ears coming to a delicate point behind the brownish-greenish hat it wore. The eyes were an enchanting purple, and they changed color as they flashed around the room. The sylph's hair flowed down to its shoulders in a waterfall of brown. Everything about its face wasn't perfect, but fit together so you couldn't imagine it being any other way. Their skin shone like Harry's did, the dewdrop kisses trying to hide; Harry realized that they couldn't walk around too much in public, it was too obvious that they weren't mortal. The sylph's clothes looked different, sort of like they were working at a Renaissance festival but got lost and were looking for directions.  
  
"Well, you must be Harry?" The sylph said. Their voice flowed like cream over peaches. "I'm Danu, I'll be your guide. Could I speak to Sirius?"  
  
"Yeah, he's just upstairs, I'll go get him. Oh, by the way, come in." Harry stuttered.  
  
As Danu made itself (?) comfortable, Harry went up the stairs.  
  
"Sirius! The sylph is here." Harry called to the hallway. From there he went to get his trunk and Hedwig, leaving Sirius to talk to Danu.  
  
After a long period of heaving and dragging, pleading with the trunk to follow him, it was finally downstairs, and Hedwig followed shortly after. His new gecko (as Harry now called Ciaran) was clinging to his arm. Harry walked into the living room and sat on the windowseat, trying desperately not to interrupt the quiet conversation the two were having.  
  
"Don't worry. Harry'll be fine with us, we've been planning for his arrival for some time now. It was just a matter of getting her here." Danu reassured him.  
  
"That's good. I just have one more question. Is there any way that it'd be possible for me to speak with . . . him every once in a while?" Sirius faltered when finding a pronoun for Harry, and Harry smiled thoughtfully.  
  
"Yes, but not for quite a while. Eventually it will reach a point where it will be safe for him to come into the Open World on her own, he will be able to disappear at her own will. Only then will he be able to make the journey. And who knows? Maybe something will happen . . . " Danu trailed off, and turned to smile at Harry. "I suppose everything is ready?"  
  
"Yes, all I need is to take my stuff out to whatever we'll be travelling in." Harry looked at his things, then back at Danu and Sirius.  
  
"I'll help you then." Danu said, eyes twinkling.  
  
They all trooped out to the main hall, and everyone helped grab something and they made it out to, surprisingly, a car. After everything was packed, Danu stepped aside to let Harry and Sirius say their goodbyes.  
  
"Oh, just come here." Sirius said, opening his arms for Harry. They embraced, the chill of winter settling around them.  
  
Harry felt so . . . lost as he hugged his godfather goodbye. Up until this moment, it hadn't really processed that he'd be leaving; they had been taking things one day at a time. As it turned out, they didn't have time for that. With one last squeeze, they let go, and said goodbye, and with tears in both their eyes, Harry was gone.  
  
Harry stared out the window at the snow, the shadows in the snow, more like. They were on one of those old roads that practically no one drove on, which was just as well, Harry had a feeling that they weren't supposed to draw attention to themselves. He also had a feeling that Danu was one of those quiet, obedient people who prided themselves in their sensibility.  
  
"Danu? Are you the one who's supposed to explain everything to me, or will someone else?" Harry cautiously asked.  
  
"Well, I will be present for the explanation, but I'm not to be the one. I'm still somewhat young, as far as sylphs are concerned, and I don't think they would want me to lead you astray."  
  
"How old are you?" Harry asked politely.  
  
"Fifty."  
  
Harry felt his jaw dropped, and, so as not to look too fishy (not suspicious, the actual fish), he closed his mouth. Fifty? "Well, you've certainly aged well."  
  
"Sylphs don't show signs of age. We just die when we die. The only times when you can see us growing are the years when we are coming into our shape for life. Like you have. You probably won't grow any more than you have, you might develop a tad more, but certainly nothing huge." Danu explained matter-of-factly.  
  
"Oh." There was a silence again. Harry stared out the window again. Just what was he getting into? How much did he have yet to learn? Would Danu answer his questions? He supposed not. But he decided to ask anyway.  
  
"Danu?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Do you have any idea how much I'll have to learn?"  
  
"Well, you won't have to learn our language, you've been speaking it fluently ever since we got in the car." Harry looked surprised at this, but decided that it was one of those things like Parseltongue. "But you will have to know . . . no, I'm not the one to tell you. That will all be cleared up soon."  
  
With a look of anticipation on his face, Harry tried to check all his questions, and ask them when he would get some answers.  
  
To his great surprise, about an hour later, Danu stopped the car. Harry had drifted off a bit, exceedingly bored, but he looked out the window and saw that they were in the middle of a snow-covered forest. Why had they stopped? Had they run out of gas? And why was Danu getting out?  
  
"Come on, Harry. We're here."  
  
"What? Where's here? What about the car?" Harry couldn't help it, the questions wouldn't stop.  
  
"The car isn't actually a car; it's a boulder." Danu explained as it transformed the car back into its original shape. "And we have some way to walk yet until we reach our destination. Here, I'll make your stuff more portable." Before Harry knew it, all his things were pocket size (with the exception of Hedwig and Ciaran.)  
  
"How did you do that?" Harry asked, awed. "You didn't even say a spell."  
  
"All of that will be explained in due time; you'll just have to wait." Danu teased. "Now come on; we have a lot of ground to cover." With that, Danu set off on top of the snow, and Harry followed with his trunk in his pocket and Hedwig's cage in his hand.  
  
They traveled deep into the wood, Harry growing steadily colder as they moved. He hadn't worn anything remotely like snowpants, he hadn't expected a hike. His knit jacket was too thin to shield him against the cold winter day. He grumbled something to himself that even he didn't know what it was. The trees were getting decidedly thicker and more gnarled as they walked, their twisted figures foreboding to anyone who didn't know where they were going. Harry marveled how people as beautiful as the sylphs would want to live here, in this ugly part of the forest. Before Harry could register what was really going on, Danu had stopped.  
  
"Here's our destination." Harry looked around. He couldn't see anything but a few rocks in a circle, and a little clearing off to his right. The trees were about as twisted as he expected they'd get.  
  
"What-?"  
  
"Shhh." Danu breathed, finger centering at the lips, drawing a line down from them and he brought her hand back at a resting position.  
  
Harry could tell he was doing magic, but not just why she needed to perform a spell. The pine off to the side started to ruffle its needles slightly, Harry felt a summery wind send goosebumps up his spine. The whispers caught up with his ears, a spell in their words as Danu walked in a circle, just inside the stones, and Harry could have sworn he could see the magic running through the veins in the older sylph's body. In the snow, several symbols appeared before he could figure out just what they were, and he looked back at Danu. His lavender eyes had closed, their lids glowing somehow, and when she was done with his circle, she stepped into the middle, addressing the eight rocks after muttering something incoherent.  
  
Danu turned back to Harry, and motioned him to the circle. Harry followed his instructions, warily watching the sylph now bearing a beckoning look on his face. Then Harry saw it; there was a staircase leading downward.  
  
As he stepped down into the rocks, he felt the doorway to his past close behind him in the form of the "trapdoor" of sorts closing. Danu motioned to him not to talk, and only to concentrate on the next step. Harry focused his attention on his footwork, not wanting to be the victim of a cruel joke. He could hear his footsteps echo with dull thuds, somehow Danu's steps didn't make the slightest of noise. He wondered what Ron would sound like trying to descend these stairs, but felt a cruel jolt as the step he hadn't been concentrating on vanished. Luckily, the more experienced of the pair caught him, and Harry reminded himself to concentrate on the dingy steps of his mind.  
  
They traveled on and on, and Harry felt himself growing colder and colder, until he was sure he was going to get pneumonia. At long last, the stair he had to concentrate on was a floor, and there was a door with a whole bunch of ancient symbols on it. Danu opened it, and, with a flourish, Harry found himself outside again.  
  
But he was not alone. He was in a whole village of sylphs. Oh, the sights! The sounds! Harry couldn't keep himself from staring at the sylphs. He smelled rich food cooking, and saw a group of sylph pay for a meal at an outdoor café. But the café was nothing like the cafés he had seen. It was rather like a stand, and sylphs sat on the ground as one sylph played what looked like a clarinet, only it was a handsome brown, with two ends that went in different directions and it was strapped to the sylph's shoulders. The writing was all in that language Harry had once called ancient. He stared at one shop, advertising the latest fashions in its windows. There were many blacksmiths, restaurants, a single library, cafés, and then Harry noticed that the sylphs who must've lived in the country were advertising their goods, the livestock they used was the best Harry had ever seen. And the sylphs themselves! They were all beautiful people, delicate and feminine in some ways, and strong with masculinity in others. They were of all colors and ethnicities like he had seen in the Open World. They walked by a couple that looked as if one was heavy and swollen with child.  
  
And everything seemed so ancient. Harry recognized many of the symbols as Celtic, but knew not their meaning. There was no siding on the buildings, they were all stone, and mixed in with the plants and trees that Harry recognized. It was obvious that this was the 'big city' of the sylphs, but no where did he see anything that remotely categorized this place as urban. A lot of the private rooms of the families were completely open and held in only by pillars, letting light travel into the home. He also noticed that every single building had an Astronomy Tower, or at least a place that could easily be used for that kind of purpose. The whole city was built up to the banks of a river. Harry wondered where the sylvan world stopped. But all those thoughts were lost as he saw where Danu was taking him.  
  
The palace was huge, in every sense of the word. You might call it a castle, but it looked so much more open and inviting than even Hogwarts, and Harry could see several sylphs milling around through the large windows of the rooms. There were towers, Harry wondered where they all led. If he were to live here, it would take him forever to find his way around. However, he didn't have time to stand and gawk at it; Danu was at the gates already and knocking for entrance.  
  
"Ah! Danu! I trust you have Harry?" A guard asked.  
  
"Yes, of course I do. He's right here." Danu motioned for Harry not to be so timid and step up to the guard.  
  
"Honored to meet you at last, Potter, delighted, now, Eldrid is waiting for you in her office." The guard addressed Danu and Harry together.  
  
"Thank you." Danu quickly led Harry through the castle, not giving him a chance to really look around in amazement at the artifacts and furniture and so on and so forth.  
  
When they reached an oval door at the very center of the palace, Harry knew they were there, as all of the other doors were circular. Danu stepped up to the large brass knocker and knocked three times.  
  
"Come in, Danu, Potter." Called a deep voice that sounded old and wise.  
  
Danu opened the door, and Harry saw that there were two seats in front of the desk where Eldrid sat. They were made out of a rich mahogany wood and seemed to be ancient. Eldrid was of an extremely dark complexion, like Dean, his African-English roommate had been. Harry looked at Eldrid's long hair, all braided in certain designs around the face, but also swept back into a colorful blue scarf with gold patterns all over it. Eldrid didn't look old, but Harry knew the sylph was ancient beyond Dumbldedore's years.  
  
"Well, take a seat!" Eldrid spoke directly to Harry for the first time. Harry quickly sank into one of the old, ancient chairs, and let Ciaran rest on the arm. "I'm sure you have questions, I always did when I was your age." Harry relaxed under the warm smile he received here. "And I will get them answered in due time. Just let me tell you a story."  
  
"Fireball?" Eldrid asked both Harry and Danu, and both accepted. The hard candy burst in Harry's mouth with a flavor he was unfamiliar with, but they were good, cooling and fiery at the same time.  
  
"These are good. They're different." Harry said, looking down at his lap.  
  
"I've always thought so. But on with the story that I was going to tell you.  
  
"I can sense that you already know that sylphs can read each other and mortals so closely that some wonder if they can read minds. So I won't get into that. We have a lot to cover, and very little time in which to do it.  
  
"Anyway, when your father was young, he had always been so fascinated with the people up there-" Eldrid made a gesture with his hand toward the ceiling. "that he knew one day he'd live there himself. Then he took it a step further. He had a premonition, a premonition that he'd have you.  
  
"It will come as no surprise that at first we didn't believe him when he said he'd sire our next monarch. It was crazy. We were in no need of another monarch; the Order was full. But then, our monarch back then had a premonition that you'd come around as well. Both premonitions had said that half of your blood must be a witch's. Your father knew so much, and we were reluctant, but soon other things he had predicted, like some of Voldemort's attacks on witches and wizards came true. So, we decided to trust him, and we tested him. I won't go into full detail now, but he passed every one of our tests.  
  
"When he was thirteen, we deemed that he was ready for the Open World, he could speak English perfectly, if not with a slight accent, and he knew all about the culture he'd be joining. He also knew, as well, of the threat of Lord Voldemort.  
  
"I know that you've been deeply involved with Lord Voldemort, and that you know that Lord Voldemort was trying to conquer death. He was killing sylphs at an alarming rate, jealous at our near immortality. None of us really knew how these attacks occurred, but the last person to leave the sylvan Under World before Danu was your father, and the attacks on the sylphs stopped. That was why James had to be so careful, if he was found out, it would mean a sure death. But there was one more dangerous thing about Voldemort.  
  
"He had stirred up the Tormentors. We had long thought we had banished them to the core of the earth, but the hatred and killings he caused stirred them to break free."  
  
"Are they like Dementors?" Harry asked, confused as to why they were important.  
  
"Yes, and no. They lived off the same principal, that of stealing souls, but they could kill whenever they wished to, just by becoming completely still, and they'd kill everything within a mile radius. They represent pure evil at its worst; indifference."  
  
Harry contemplated this thought for a while, and Eldrid continued.  
  
"James was smart. Almost as smart as you appear to be. He knew the Tormentors were back, but no one listened to him. His job was to find your mother and make you. Actually, when you think about it, quite a depressing job in life, but it was his task, and, as you are sitting in front of me, he did it well.  
  
"Your mother was extremely intelligent as well, but she made one slip-up; she made Voldemort angry when she published her books. Somehow, via Peter Pettigrew, Voldemort found out that you and James were sylvan, and he tried to kill you. He killed your father for the study he was doing; he killed your mother to get to you." Harry looked confused, but then realized something. "Yes, Harry, he wasn't going to kill her so he would be able to watch her soul die with the losses of you and her love, James.  
  
"Voldemort was shallow enough not to realize that you were the next sylvan monarch. He only wanted to kill you for the study. But, as you have figured out, you are the next ruler of our people. Possibly the greatest there ever will be."  
  
Harry took a moment to quietly contemplate his new role in life. Monarch? Ruler? Order? What?  
  
"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you mean by monarch, and the Order, and all of that stuff, and I'm sure that if I did, it would all make perfect sense. Could you please explain it?" Harry asked, an imploring look on his face.  
  
"Oh, yes, of course. Well, the monarch is the person who rules the sylphs. They are Seen to come, and are known who they are before their birth. No, they aren't all of the same family, your father was one of the poorer sylphs there was. Monarchs are usually raised by their parents in the sylph world, but in your case, that could never happen. Your mother was a witch, and we were forbidding your father to return here, for the sake of our world. Anyway, we would have had problems if it were only a monarch that was leading us, so we came up with the Order, in your lands they would call them advisors, who take over if an issue pops up and the monarch is gone. That's the basics, you'll learn more in the future." explained Eldrid.  
  
"I know that I should just trust you, but you're so young, and our current monarch just died, leaving you here in their place. Don't do anything without the consent of the Order unless it won't directly affect anyone but yourself. You have a lot to learn in the next couple of years. Your role is vital, extremely important, for it was said that you'd be the one to save our dying race. Our entire existance rests on your shoulders, and if you make any mistakes, lives will be to pay." Eldrid said this in an extremely worried tone, warning Harry.  
  
Harry sat there, the weight of an entire civilization on his shoulders. He heard Danu move a little in the chair next to him, and lifted his head to look at her.  
  
"Your eyes! Oh, Eldrid, look at his eyes!" He exclaimed, pointing at Harry.  
  
"Ah, yes, I was wondering . . . Harry, your eyes don't have the same abilities that sylvan eyes do, but ever since you turned five you were supposed to have an ointment put on the lids, but you didn't, so, if we can't heal them soon, you might be blind." Eldrid said this like it was no big deal. "Here, I have some here, if you do this ritual every night until I say you can stop, they will heal." Eldrid handed him a bottle, ornately carved with vines and branches.  
  
"Oh, and-" Harry started, but never got the chance to finish.  
  
"Ah, yes, the witches and wizards couldn't see it because you unconsciously used glamour on your eyes to make them look normal, but, as I can see, you overdid it a little and your eyes are too bright." Eldrid felt his face crinkle in amusement, something that rarely happened, if ever.  
  
"But, I don't think Harry sounds right. No, it doesn't. Do you think it does, Danu?" Eldrid addressed Danu for the first time since the explanation started. Danu shook his head quietly, meekly.  
  
"Your parents gave you a middle name that is rather fitting, don't you think, Danu?"  
  
"Wh-what was it, Eldrid?" Danu was obviously not used to being addressed by Eldrid.  
  
"Liamh(2)." Eldrid let the name roll off her tongue. He looked to Harry. "What do you think of that? If you don't want to take that name, you can always choose another."  
  
Harry nodded his head, then said, "Liamh it is, then."  
  
"All right, then. Danu, show Liamh to his room, he'll need to be awake tomorrow when you take him to buy his clothes and other such stuff."  
  
"Right, come on, Liamh." Danu bowed her head slightly to Eldrid, and Liamh did the same as he walked out.  
  
Liamh was so tired, he didn't even have the strength to look around as he was being led to his chambers. When Danu opened a large circular door, Liamh peered in and saw a well-furnished suite of rooms. Danu gently pushed him in and closed the door behind him, and Liamh was left alone to his own devices. He raised one hand to his face, as if seeing if he was still there.  
  
"Liamh." He whispered to himself, trying out the name on his tongue.  
  
  
  
A/N: I do believe that's the worst chapter I've ever written! It just kept getting longer and longer as I had to keep writing and writing the explanation. So much for being about the same size as the last one.  
  
I don't feel overly confident about this chapter, but I'd really like it if you'd review for me. Pleeeeaaaassse review for me! If I don't get reviews, sometimes I wonder if anyone actually reads this.  
  
(1)-Inspiration from Bridget Jones's Diary! (That movie rocks!)  
  
(2)-Liamh-lee-AHV 


	7. Chapter 7: Matchmaker Matchmaker

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story does include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
  
Chapter Seven: Matchmaker, Matchmaker . . .  
  
Liamh awoke to the sound of pounding on his door the next morning. He sat up, looked around his room for a while, confused about where he was for only a second before he remembered. This was his bed now; he was in his room. He rubbed at his puffy eyes (he could feel the ointment working on them already), and clambered out of the rather large bed he had been sleeping in. He stumbled toward the door, through the living room and into the hall. The pounding wouldn't stop.  
  
"'Lo?" Liamh mumbled out to the morning.  
  
"I just came to wake you for Danu." Came the voice of a young sylph. Fluttery, like a butterfly. "He should be up to pick you up soon."  
  
"Thank you." Liamh said as the little sylph did a funny sort of curtsy-bow and left him to his own devices. "This should be interesting." He mumbled, going off into his chambers.  
  
He hadn't looked around a lot yet; he had been much too tired last night. Now, however, he had the time to stare around at his suite in wonder.  
  
It was like a small flat, only not. Everything looked so very old, like something you'd see in a Muggle movie that takes place in the Renaissance. He was standing on a carpet, an intricate weave of all different colors, ending in a golden phoenix in the middle. Next to the door, there was a small table, a place to put something when you walk in. All of the doors were magnificent ebony circles, carved in ornate knots that he supposed were for protection. Several sarongs hung on the walls, in the place of tapestries, each a deep, rich color, bleached with a design that usually had something to do with astronomy. Some were just abstract with color, a pattern there only for those who took the time to see it. He noticed that there was an iron door that led out onto the balcony, but in between the pillars were strange cloths that were tough, and he suspected they were to keep out the cold in the winter. However, this area was separated from the rest of the rooms by a large, ornate steel gate. Liamh looked around at the rest of the 'living room.'  
  
There were instruments everywhere, strange instruments that he couldn't know how to use yet. Their curves curled around each other, intricate in their work so they would be efficient at whatever it was they did. Strange things hung from the ceiling, clinking together at different times. Then, Liamh's old Hogwarts astronomy classes kicked in, and he realized that these random pieces of junk were, in fact, a model of the stars. He looked over to the corner of the room, and saw what looked like a huge globe. He had seen one like it in Hogsmeade, but it wasn't half as accurate as this one. It was sitting in an old metal holder, the legs spindled on the floor and then tangling up to trap the globe. As he tried to see under where the legs were, the legs switched positions in an ever so subtle way, so Liamh barely even noticed. But then he realized that he'd have to take a shower or something to get ready for the day, and sheepishly wandered around the suite trying to find the bathroom.  
  
When he did eventually find it, he saw that he could take a shower or a bath as he pleased, but that the furnishings were all circular. The mirror was a tan color, and it reminded him rather of the Mirror of Erised with all the designs running along its planes.  
  
After a very satisfying shower (the water smelled like lavender), Liamh smeared some of the ointment Eldrid had given him over his eyelids, and eyed himself in the mirror. It was actually embarrassing when he came to think about it, how he was supposed to be a monarch to his people, but he couldn't even keep track of his appearance. He tried several times in vain to control his raven locks, but they had decided that today he would have spiked hair whether he liked it or not. After quickly changing into the clothes he had that were the most like the sylphs' clothing (his school robes), he went back into the 'living room' to wait for Danu.  
  
After feeding both Hedwig and Ciaran, he tried to find a place to sit.  
  
There was a couch and an armchair; each surrounding what looked suspiciously like an apothecary table. In the center of the apothecary table there was a crystal ball, and Liamh groaned inwardly. Great, he thought, I hope I won't be studying Divinations. There came more pounding on the door, and Liamh knew it was Danu this time.  
  
"Hello, Danu. I'm ready." Liamh said in greeting, before closing the door behind him.  
  
"We have a lot to buy, but first, I must introduce you to sylvan food." Danu said, briskly walking out of the palace and onto the snow-covered grounds. Liamh wrapped his scarf around his neck and his cloak around his robes. He felt like he was in a big mitten.  
  
As they ventured back into the sylvan city, Liamh couldn't help but notice that it seemed uncannily dark today. Something told him that it was because the weather above them, out through the tunnel, in the Open World, was pretty bad. He ran to catch up to Danu, her footsteps leaving him behind.  
  
* * *  
  
Ron pushed into the pub and out of the blizzard-like weather. It appeared that a lot of witches and wizards who had come up for some shopping had had to stray into the warm tavern of the Leaky Cauldron. He took off his snow- covered cloak, shook from it the wetness that was melting snow, and removed his scarf. He hung both on a hook, and went over to the bar.  
  
"One Butterbeer, please, and make it warm." He ordered, smiling at Tom, the old bartender.  
  
"Whatever you say, young Mr. Weasley."  
  
And, soon, with no further ado, Ron was on his way to a seat at the back of the pub, a quiet little alcove where he could think in peace. He wondered if his parents would be able to find him, but realized that if they came in, he'd see them as they did, and would call out to them. He settled back, sipping the hot Butterbeer and letting it flow down into his stomach, warming his insides all the way. He thought of Hermione, hoping that she was faring well with her family. She had told him and Harry at Christmas that her parents had invited their relatives over for the New Year, and that she would spend her vacation cooped up in her parents' vacation home, trying desperately not to look at her spellbooks and listening to comments on how grown-up she was getting. He chuckled slightly; when the extended family of the Weasleys got together, they had to be outside the whole time because there was no room for everyone in their house. The whole point of him coming here was to get her a good book about sylphs, which he had (hopefully) done.  
  
But his musings became very different as he heard the voices behind him, in the shadows.  
  
"He's becoming much more independent, a handful, really . . . " Drifted a man's voice. Who did that sound like?  
  
"Oh, Lucius, I knew you should never have put him under that spell, you're weak because of it." Ron knew who that was! The Malfoys were, apparantly, having a family disagreement.  
  
"Narcissa! I'm not weak, he's weak, I'm the one who holds the upper hand here."  
  
"But you don't really know what that curse does!"  
  
"Oh, and you do?" Lucius replied. Ron would have thought him childish if not for what he said next. "Dark Magic always has a way of coming back and slapping you in the face; I'm just slapping it right back."  
  
"Well, the least you could do is figure out what's bothering you if it isn't the side affects of the spell. That's what I brought you here for . . . " There were rummaging sounds, as if Mrs. Malfoy was digging around in her purse.  
  
"Don't you tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Narcissa!" With that, Ron heard a slap, and a muffled screech, and two pops as the two Apparated out of the Leaky Cauldron.  
  
Now what was that all about?  
  
* * *  
  
The fruit had been wonderful; it was something that seemed to be related to a banana if you looked at it, but it tasted like a mixture between an apple and an orange. Liamh looked at the rinds that were left over on his plate. He took one more drink of his Italian soda (raspberry), and looked back up at Danu.  
  
"Are you finished?" she asked.  
  
"Yes." Liamh grinned at him.  
  
"Well, then let's pay for it so we can get out of here." Danu gracefully slid out of the booth and Liamh did the same.  
  
Danu left some money on the table (a funny sort of interlocking triangular shape) and they left the small café.  
  
"Where are we going first?"  
  
"Well, let's go get you some different clothes, because frankly, you don't look like you belong here." Danu said, looking down at Liamh's robes.  
  
"Where do we go for that?"  
  
"Scringe." Liamh caught up to Danu after falling behind to stare at an instrumentalist and drop a coin in their hat. They went up the twisted alleyways, turning off down here, then over there, and soon were in the very center of the town Liamh had now come to know as 'Myquil.' In the middle of the square was a star design painted on the cobblestones, and Liamh saw a large building covered in art that had a sign hanging on the outside that read Scringe.  
  
Danu led him inside, and a little bell twinkled to the void that was the shop. The sound bounced off the racks that were so packed with clothes that Liamh could barely tell what the outfits looked like. While they were waiting, Liamh looked under the glass on the counter at the jewelry. There were bangles and earrings and headdresses, most a delicate looking metal that Liamh couldn't recognize. But he didn't have long to look, for a salesmerchant was coming out from the backroom.  
  
"Hello, Eamonn, nice to see you again." Danu called out to the other sylph.  
  
"Well, hello, Danu, what do you need today? It seems highly unlikely that you just came to see me on your own." The sylph called Eamonn said with a little smirk on her face. He looked like she was Asian, or would, if Liamh knew that this sylph couldn't have been born in Asia.  
  
"No, I did come here on business, but seeing you is just one of the many fruits of being at Scringe." Danu answered smoothly. "I'm here to get a full wardrobe for Liamh, here."  
  
For the first time, Eamonn looked at Liamh, sizing him up. She looked strangly at his clothes, before telling him abruptly to stand on the stool.  
  
"Well, you look like a small . . . " Eamonn muttered to himself, using a weird sort of measuring apparatus. "Yes, I know just what to do with you. Follow me. Are you just going to hover, Danu, or are you actually going to take a seat? This will take a while."  
  
Danu blushed and refrained from saying anything more to the sylph who apparantly had a no-nonsense attitude toward life. Danu sat hurriedly in the chair to wait.  
  
"Come on, here are your clothing choices." Eamonn smiled at Liamh, the first smile he had seen him wear. "Would you like to pick them out, or would you like me to show them to you so you can change into them?"  
  
"Well, I really don't know what I'm looking for . . . " Liamh stammered, eyes looking over the thousands of clothes.  
  
"Well, you'll need some for business, some for your social life, of course, others for dancing . . . " Liamh's face fell at this, he remembered perfectly well the Yule Ball from last year. "Oh, don't worry, I'm sure someone will teach you how to dance," reassured Eamonn. "Oh, and others for flying and . . . are you going to learn how to fight?"  
  
"I suppose."  
  
"Then you'll need the proper attire for battle, and certain rituals, etc. I'll also hook you up with some jewelry and stuff."  
  
At this point, all was a blur to Liamh as outfit after outfit was shown to him to try on. There were all different kinds of things. There were patterns, shirts, pants (in both male and female styles), dresses (although they all had a cutting masculine edge to them, if that was possible), elegant dance outfits, flying shirts with plunging backs, comfortable clothing that Liamh found very easy to move in (Eamonn told him was used in combat), and pajamas (although he insisted that he had these already).  
  
"Now, all you need is the proper lingerie. Follow me back to the back room, I'm sure you'll find something you'll like." Eamonn winked at him. "I'll let you decide on your own on this stuff." With that, he left Liamh blushing vibrantly under the dim lights of the back room.  
  
Several embarrassing experiments later, Liamh had done that part and was out selecting jewelry.  
  
"We are the only clothing store in town that doesn't specialize with just the certain thing. You're going to need these . . . " Eamonn pointed out several different kinds of necklaces, all different lengths and meaning. Then she pointed out the earring, which weren't quite as important as the necklaces, but nonetheless important. Next came the headdresses and masks.  
  
"In the sylph world, these are the most important things that you could possibly pick up. They tell your personality and the flavor of what you are. You pick these out on your own."  
  
Liamh ended up picking the Juliet style headdresses (1) and the theatre- style masks (2). Eamonn looked as if she would have liked to make a comment, but decided not to. Instead he slipped a note discreetly into Liamh's bag about the things he had chosen. Eamonn went to calculate the cost, and handed a long strip of paper to Danu to sign.  
  
"That'll be 1,000 trisks."  
  
"A thousand?" Liamh gasped.  
  
"Well, you've basically got everything you'll ever need in the clothing department, so think of it as what you'd pay for a lifetime's worth of clothes. If you look at it that way, it's not so bad." Eamonn assured Liamh. Danu was quickly writing out a payment document, like a check, saying that they'd pay later when they had the money out of the palace/castle.  
  
"Where are we going next?" Liamh asked after they were let out into the open.  
  
"We're going to the salon to get your hair done. Honestly, you look like you cut it off yourself the way it's so short and uneven." Danu replied, with a hint of irritation.  
  
They walked, with Liamh trotting slightly to keep up, until they came to a place that was simply the salon. Liamh felt slightly nervous, and tried to comb his hair flat with his fingers, but the hair won, and he decided to give it up. No bell rang this time, but the hair stylist came right away.  
  
"Well, what can I do to help you two today?" She asked, eyes twinkling.  
  
"As you can see, Liamh needs a new style." Danu said, trying not to explain too much.  
  
"Give me some background, please, I need to do my job to the fullest potential. Otherwise, I might do everything completely wrong for the young one."  
  
Liamh was torn between being indignant that he was now 'the young one' and suspiciousness at what was about to happen to his hair.  
  
"He needs a regal style; he's our next ruler." Danu added in a whisper.  
  
The sylph's eyes got round, and he sucked in breath to stop herself from giving away this fact right away. After all, there was one more sylph waiting for their hair to dry to be styled.  
  
"Hmmmm. Well, sit in the barber chair and I'll think of something." The hairstylist showed Liamh to a chair, and he sat in it, a little reluctantly. The sylph looked at Danu like he was crazy. "You know, with what I have to work with, you might want to take a seat and look through one of our magazines. I'm sure it'll be awhile."  
  
Suddenly, there were hands in Liamh's hair, and he could hear some muttering from the sylph. It sounded suspiciously like 'never do anything with what they have . . . mumble mumble waves grumble grumble beautiful color . . . long, much longer.' Liamh tried to relax, and looked for the first time around at the salon.  
  
It was an old building; not kept up as well as it could have been. The walls were ratty, and Liamh suspected (from the piles and piles of boxes messily strewn about, their contents spilling onto the floor) that the owner had moved here recently. It wasn't really furnished all that well, but that was all a part of the moving in stage. He supposed that materials weren't easy for the sylphs to come by; after all, Danu was fifty and had never been out of the Underworld.  
  
"Are you comfortable?" the sylph asked.  
  
"Yes, very," Liamh answered, trying to swivel around in the chair to look at him.  
  
"Well, you may feel a slightly tingly sensation soon, I'm going to magically grow your hair."  
  
Sure enough, before long, there was a tickle in his scalp, the sylph's hands running over it deftly, untangling the bits that got tangled as it grew, combing it. He could feel his head get heavier and heavier as his hair grew thicker and longer, and before he knew it, the process was done.  
  
"All we need to do now is wash, dry, and brush through it and you should be good to go. Follow me over to the sink." With that, the sylph took a firm hold on his hair and determinedly floated him over to the sink. The hair was dumped into the sink (making a direct thudding noise as it did so) and Liamh felt the lavender smell that emanated from the water here wash over his skin.  
  
Before he knew it, his head was being held over a fire, and he was a complete wreck. Looking up with terrified eyes, the sylph took this to mind.  
  
"Oh, I thought you knew. Sylvan hair is stronger than mortal hair; as you may have found out, it does what it pleases, and not many things choose to shrivel and burn if given that choice." She answered his silent plea, embarrassed.  
  
"That's you done, then, just brush through it with this every day, and you should be all right." The sylph handed him an oddly shaped comb/brush, it was bendy, and had bristles on the inside and outside of it to help untangle.  
  
"Who here has the money? Oh, sorry about that, dear, there's a mirror over there." The hairstylist gestured vaguely to a back room. While Danu paid, Liamh decided he'd go figure out just what he looked like. Perhaps that wasn't a very good idea.  
  
He looked imperial, to say the least. His (now MUCH longer) ebony hair flowed down to well past his waist, curling in some directions as it went and leaning in others, weaving gentle lines down his back. It completely set off his face, flowing around it rather than trying to cover it up, as it had seemed to be doing before. His ears gently poked out the sides, giving him a wild, surreal look. He touched his hair in wonder. Had it always been this beautiful?  
  
"Liamh! We have to be getting back to the palace!" Danu called back to him.  
  
"Uh - I'm coming!" He was then whisked off to the front desk.  
  
"Thank you very much for helping us out, he needed this." Danu said apologetically.  
  
"Well, it's business, I'm grateful for that. Goodbye." The owner called out to them as they passed on their way out.  
  
"What're we doing now?" Liamh asked.  
  
"Taking you back to the palace for lessons." Danu was almost jogging.  
  
"Lessons? Already?"  
  
"Well, you're going to need to know how to act at your coronation tomorrow." Danu countered as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
"Lessons? Act? Coronation?!?"  
  
* * *  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
I have your book, as was ordered, I'm sure you've gotten that by now. I had a job finding it; it appeared that there aren't very many accurate books on sylphs out there. Most of them are just myths.  
  
Anyway, the real reason I need to talk to you is that I overheard a conversation when I went into the Leaky Cauldron. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy appeared to be . . . erm, well, fighting. She was going on about how he was weak because of some curse that he had put on someone else, and he was saying that he was slapping the Dark Arts in the face, and I was really confused. Does that mean that he's on our side now? What the heck was up with her being concerned about his health? Who's under a curse? Why would it affect him? I can't think of anything else; it's really becoming a wicked scary obsession, and I haven't the brains to figure this one out on my own. Help me.  
  
Ron  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione quickly took Hermes in out of the gale; he was shuddering beyond belief. It appeared that Ron didn't think Pig could handle a book and a letter. He never really thought much of his little owl. She smiled to herself; she was in his debt once again.  
  
She read the attached letter, and something that she had been wondering about fell into place. She had seen Draco Malfoy walk as if he didn't want to go where he was going, and not just to classes. Things like to Hogsmeade, into the Great Hall, but a second later he would grimace and keep going without further hesitation. As for the Dark Arts, she thought that it sounded like Lucius Malfoy was controlling something. She just wished she could have been there for the conversation. She knew Ron hadn't told her all of the details. She'd have to work extensively on this case.  
  
* * *  
  
"I'll leave you here; your instructor should be here in a moment." Danu muttered importantly, leaving Liamh to his own devices in the extensive ballroom.  
  
It was huge. The hall was currently being decorated with strings and branches of beautiful green leaves. How would that be possible? It was the middle of winter. Of course, the air was open; it wasn't closed off on any sides except where it connected to the rest of the palace. The floor underneath him was cold stone; it was glassy, however, as if it had been polished marble. He looked up to see a sylph walking as if it had something monstrous to do in only a very short time.  
  
"You must be Liamh. You look lost enough." The sylph held out its hand. "I'm Caelum."  
  
"Well, then I'm Liamh."  
  
"Very good. We've so far, in the last five minutes, established handshaking." Caelum looked distractedly at his watch. It didn't have numbers, or even letters, but rather, the stars and moons whizzing around in a circle. "Now, sit down."  
  
Liamh looked at the floor, then back up at Caelum. "Where?"  
  
"Oh, right, right, the chair, just a moment." Caelum appeared to be concentrating, and then a chair just suddenly appeared.  
  
"How did you do that?"  
  
"Well, I concentrated, but we have no time for magic tricks now. Sit in the chair."  
  
Liamh plopped in the chair.  
  
"No, you should sit up straighter."  
  
Liamh forced his back into a straight line.  
  
"No, slouch more."  
  
"Why? I thought that nobles sat this straight." Liamh said, flushing.  
  
"The whole reason you have to learn how to sit correctly is that you don't look like you should as a ruler. You're supposed to have an unreal beauty, but if you sit too straight, you look too perfect, and people are only beautiful because of their imperfections. You are supposed to have a surreal, yet regal stance, now let's try it again."  
  
Liamh slouched a bit more in his chair, and he saw Caelum smile. He did feel good; it was strange to think that he was having lessons on how not to be too perfect.  
  
"Very good. You're a fast learner. Now, to make you acceptable as a ruler (and you are vulnerable at an age so young, people may not trust you) you should hold your head with humility." Caelum explained.  
  
Liamh was confused, and to cover that up, he said, "Could you show me?"  
  
Caelum held his head straight, but not proud. It was as if they were equals. Liamh tried, and accomplished this small feat.  
  
"All right. Very good. There will be a dance tomorrow, so we have to go into that whole thing. But for now, we will go over walking, standing, and vocals." Caelum looked slightly stressed, but hid it gracefully. "Well! Stand up!"  
  
Liamh tumbled to his feet, and smoothed the creases sitting had made in his robes.  
  
"I never want to see you do that again. Except in the morning. I can't expect anything too much in the morning." Caelum sat down. "Like this." She stood elegantly, and as he did so, running both hands smoothly down her shirtfront.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Now you try it."  
  
Liamh sat down and imitated Caelum perfectly.  
  
"Very good." He briskly shook her head, getting to the next part of the lesson. "Standing. Oh dear lord, we barely have enough time. Okay, stand usually with one foot slightly behind the other, back nearly straight, head held at an elevation that suggests you're royal, but that you don't have the mentality of a pig."  
  
Liamh stared at Caelum like he was completely stark ravers bonkers, then pushed his back out, put his right foot before his left, and held his head up so he was looking down his nose. Caelum actually giggled.  
  
"Okay, you look like your nose is being magnetically pulled upwards. Level your head off so people can look into your eyes. They truly are windows to your soul; if you try to hide them, people may think you're scared."  
  
Liamh leveled his head, slouched his back just a tad, and looked over at Caelum.  
  
"We have a lot of work to do." Caelum muttered. "Anyway, when we walk, we try to do it as if our feet never leave the ground. Do you think you know what I'm talking about?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well. Try it out." Caelum gently prompted.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Liamh shuffled off across the floor. He tried to walk as though it was natural for his feet not to leave the ground.  
  
"You look like you've severely hurt yourself. Watch."  
  
Caelum glided across the floor; Liamh made sure to look at her feet. They did indeed look as though they never left the ground, but they did. Just as his toes were leaving the ground, her heals skidded across the floor, but somehow there was no shuffle sound.  
  
"You try it."  
  
Liamh got up his courage, and mechanically glided along, his arms plastered to his sides.  
  
"Well, you've got the footwork, but the top half of you looks like a bloody robot. Swing your arms casually."  
  
Liamh doubled back and swung his arms, as he would have in the Free World.  
  
"But your hips! Swing them ever so slightly."  
  
Liamh frustratedly tried this, but he swung them with the wrong rhythm.  
  
"No! Swing them with your legs, not fighting them!" Caelum finally sighed, giving in. "You've basically got it." He glanced down at the odd kind of watch that the sylphs used to tell time. "Now you need lessons in fine dining."  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione looked over at Crookshanks. She had been perusing her miniature library for over two hours. He was mewling excitedly; pawing at a bookshelf.  
  
"What are you trying to show me now, Crookshanks, dear?" She muttered, suspiciously tilting in her chair.  
  
She bent low to pick up her slightly neurotic cat. She kissed his forehead, glaring at the very bottom of the shelf. There was something she had never seen before.  
  
* * *  
  
"Today, we'll be having a sampling of the foods that we'll have tomorrow, just so you know how to eat it when the time comes." Caelum said, but stopped as Liamh tried to sit at the same time he did. "No, you always let the people who know more than you sit first. It's common courtesy."  
  
"Oh." Liamh held back then sat. His face fell at the sight of all the utensils they had set before him. Caelum discreetly noticed this, and held up the first thing that occurred to him. "This is a seed remover. You stick it in the fruit (or sometimes vegetable) and concentrate on bringing all the seeds out of the fruit. And it will. Try it with your apple."  
  
Liamh stuck it in the apple and concentrated, feeling the seeds moving toward his seed remover. When he pulled it out, and opened it again, the seeds fell out.  
  
"If you like to peel your apples, we usually do with our knives, and skin it in a circular motion." Caelum demonstrated. "If not, just bite into it." Liamh bit into his apple.  
  
"What you see on your plate is a stewed Billywig." He pointed to the little bug-like thing that Liamh recognized from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. "What we do to eat these is take these-" she held up something that was vaguely like tweezers and pliers combined. "and pry open the shell to eat the inside." Caelum did so, and Liamh, thinking it looked rather simple, tried to open his, but instead found that Billywigs fly quite adequately when flung. Caelum looked over to where it had landed; a small little amused smile on his face, and beckoned it back from the small fountain in the corner.  
  
"Don't be so forceful." She said gently.  
  
The rest of lunch was rather an adventure, and Liamh found that around him, most of his food was adequately equipped to fly. Caelum was quite exasperated, but still (amazingly) patient.  
  
"What am I going to do when I try to get that British accent out of your voice?" She moaned, eyes heavenward.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione prodded at the knot, and, as her suspicions had told her, the bookshelf moved aside to allow her just enough space to walk in.  
  
It was amazing. There were shelves upon shelves of wizard's books, all at the tips of her fingers. She didn't know where to run off to first; the section that would help her with her Transfiguration, or the section labeled Restricted. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her, and she went over to the Restricted Section.  
  
* * *  
  
"Now, Liamh, I have to say, through your accent, it's really hard to tell what you've been saying, but we can get the gist of it. You really must try and lose the accent. Listen to the way we talk here, and try to imitate it." Caelum drawled in a tongue that flew and punctuated itself at ease, making it easy to sound lighthearted, but also sound as though you truly did See more than mere mortals. "Well, say something."  
  
"Oh, right. I must really learn to speak correctly, or you might think I needed to go to the madhouse." Liamh said quickly.  
  
"Heavens help me." Caelum muttered. "I think we're going to need the books." She drew something out of his pocket. "I thought we might need these. Repeat after me: Moses supposes his toeses are roses."  
  
Liamh looked at Caelum like he was crazy. "I saw that in a Muggle movie! I think it was called 'Singin' in the Rain.'"  
  
"Repeat after me: Moses supposes his toeses are roses." Caelum impatiently said.  
  
"Moses supposes his toeses are roses."  
  
"No, now do it like I say it. Moses supposes his toeses are roses."  
  
They went on rather in the same vain for a while, with little sayings that tested different parts of Liamh's speech. After watching Singin' in the Rain, it was rather hard not to just burst out into song. They went through most of the sounds, but it was trying, and Caelum still had something to teach Liamh.  
  
"Put this in your mouth horizontally so that we can see it poking your cheeks." She handed Liamh a little cue tip, and he (reluctantly, I must add) shoved it in his mouth.  
  
"Read from the book of sayings." Caelum put the book in his hands. "And remember, we want it somewhat decipherable."  
  
"Molez shupozes hish tosz are rosvis."  
  
"No, try it while rolling your tongue around the cue tip."  
  
"Mozes su-poe-ziz hisz toes-es are ro-ziz."  
  
"Try harder!"  
  
"Moses supposes his toehs are roses."  
  
"Just say toeses."  
  
"Toe-ziz."  
  
"Again!"  
  
"Toeses!" Liamh laughed, trying to cover his mouth.  
  
"Right! You've got it! Next line!"  
  
* * *  
  
Lucius fell back into bed. It had been a trying day, to say the least. Narcissa just wouldn't leave him alone. Why did the woman think that she had a remote chance of changing his mind? His son was too old to have the curse lifted from him; he was also a teenager. We all know that even with a spell they can sometimes get out of hand.  
  
But he felt so tired. He didn't know where his son was, but he could feel that Draco was thinking about something he shouldn't be thinking about. He sent a jolt of pain to him, anger merging into a physical burning. That would teach him.  
  
* * *  
  
"Now, when we dance, we usually just follow the music, and let our subconscious tell us what to do." Caelum said, making the chair they had been practicing with disappear. "It actually looks somewhat like Free World- ish ballet and hip-hop combined." With that, Caelum went to the door with a flourish. "Your dance instructor is here."  
  
Liamh turned to see a sylph gracefully floating toward him.  
  
"I'm Nikiatom." This sylph was shy; she didn't seem to want to say much. "You can't dance in that. For these lessons, you'll need to put on one of the dance costumes you bought today." He whispered, embarrassed. Liamh decided to help her out.  
  
"Where would I do that?" He gently probed.  
  
"There's a side door out to your left if you leave the hall."  
  
Liamh left, watching quietly as Nikiatom started warming up to the soft melody that was playing from somewhere.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco shrieked out in pain; why must his father punish him so?  
  
He had only been thinking about Harry. What was so wrong with that? He had been wondering where he was, what he was doing. He knew nothing of sylphs, had barely heard of them. In fact, the only reason he knew anything about them was the fact that when he was four he had wandered into the kitchens and had overheard the House Elves telling stories to the baby House Elf about the Elder Breed, the Sylphs. But he was an impatient little child, or at least his father made him that way, and he coughed loudly. However, not before he heard that sylphs were beyond mere mortal beauty. He sighed.  
  
What Draco didn't know was that he had gotten in trouble because he had been thinking that it seemed right now that Harry was part Sylph . . . he was far too etherial a creature to be a wizard.  
  
* * *  
  
"How do you think we would dance to this music?" Nikiatom timidly asked of Liamh after he had emerged redly wearing a floaty sort of thing.  
  
"Well, it sounds light, so you wouldn't make any sudden movements, and . . . erm, it gets louder and softer a lot, so . . . um, that means that you'd do a lot of upper body movements. Uh, I don't really know."  
  
"Well, actually you're right, in a way. Let's just get started dancing, and I think you'll get it."  
  
They danced. Only it was nothing like dancing as Liamh knew it. It was flying. They twirled their way across the floor, dancing in their bare feet, letting the music take their bodies and gracefully bring motion to sound. Before either of them expected it, the dance was over.  
  
"That was one kind of dance." Nikiatom murmured after their dance was done. Liamh saw that he clearly needed help with this, so he asked, "What kind of dance?"  
  
"Ballroom dancing." Nikiatom was just barely starting to build courage. "The next song that will be played will hopefully be a slightly less formal kind. In this dance there is a slight requirement; we aren't to kick high or anything really acrobatic, u-unlike what we just did. Most of the time that we dance, our hands will be in contact. There is one move, the rest is improvisation." Nikiatom showed him a little funny kind of half-step, then gestured for Liamh to do the same.  
  
"I think you're ready for it."  
  
The music that played this time was a funny sort of jazz, only the instruments that were being used were barely recognizable. Liamh heard a piano, and what sounded like a saxophone/clarinet, and the rest was undecipherable. It was a bit of a faster song, and they danced quickly, less worrying about the grace of the dance than the way they appeared.  
  
After that, Nikiatom explained that the more casual the dance, the more complicated it was. They wouldn't go into casual dancing if Liamh didn't want to, so they finished the night off dancing for practice, and Liamh got more skilled as the night went on, and Nikiatom got more open as the night wore on, and finally, they were walking to Liamh's suite.  
  
"Thank you very much for the lessons, Nikiatom, they meant a lot to me, and I get the feeling that you didn't have to teach me." He smiled at the nervous sylph, who quirked her mouth. "Good-night."  
  
"G'night." Nikiatom whispered.  
  
Liamh leaned on his door after going back inside. He wasn't sure about it, but he thought he'd made his first real friend.  
  
A/N- That was a fairly tedious chapter, I hope that it kept your attention. I also hope that you appreciated the whole cue-tip in mouth bit, because I actually . . . oh, wait, if I said that, I'd be embarrassed. Ignore me.  
  
The chapter after the next may be a while in coming, I have to think of something political, and it's gonna be another one of those filler chaps that we all get really irritated with. If you have any ideas, please tell me in a review (the whole 'only members can review' thing is fixed, thanks to those of you who told me about it, I forgot all about it.)  
  
Thank you very much to all my lovely reviewers, my internet was down for a while, so I couldn't email you back. And I wish I could, but now that FF.N is running again I for some odd reason can't check my reviews and its really irritating, but I'll hopefully do all that in the next chapter. (  
  
  
  
1-For those of you who are interested, they are a chain-metal band that goes around your head, with delicate chains that sit across your hair and fit it perfectly, then other chains that go down your back in a sort of hairnet thing. Very delicate and beautiful. Liamh's had a chain that hangs down on your forehead for decoration with little green things on them.  
  
2-Also for those of you that are wondering, these are slim styles that cover the top half of your face, but these sort of morphed with your head so they stayed on but complimented your features exactly. Kind-of like Mardi Gras, only these were in a more Renaissance reminiscent style. Liamh's were silver with deep purple and forest green in stripes that resembled a dragon design, and another for more formal occasions was black and white, the black as the background, with silvery-white around the eyes and four dots under the eyes which were horizontal and went from one side to the other. Sprouting from the top were six sleek peacock-ish curls (three on each side) with a teardrop thing hanging from them. Extremely elegant. 


	8. Chapter 8: The Coronation

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story does include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
  
Chapter 8: Coronation  
  
"Lyra! Lyra, dear, you must come in and wash yourself properly!" he called.  
  
"But why, Mummy? I want to go play in the river!" The little sylph called back.  
  
"Don't you know the coronation's today, you silly little goose?" her bearer choked back a laugh at her child's forgetfulness. Lyra's eyes got really big, and then he took in a whispering breath.  
  
"Really? I thought it was tomorrow!"  
  
"Yes, child, its today."  
  
As Lyra walked away into the house, her mother distinctly heard him say, "Our new monarch had better be cute."  
  
* * *  
  
Quite coincidentally, the same thoughts were running through Liamh's head (only not in that order). I hope I don't have to be too attractive, he thought distractedly as he stared around his new wardrobe. Oh, it's almost noon, I should be nearly ready by now.  
  
"What do you think, Ciaran?" Liamh said, turning to his lizard. "Green, or blue?"  
  
As Liamh had no idea what blink-blink-stick tongue out meant, it was very hard to get a correct answer. "I've just never been royalty before, I guess." He sighed. His scattered thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, and he gladly took the excuse to get away from this task.  
  
He walked wearily through his little suite and flopped into the entryway.  
  
"Hello?" He called, before the door was opened.  
  
"Liamh, I suppose you won't be going to the coronation wearing that, now, will you?" Caelum asked, in slight disgust.  
  
"Oh," Liamh looked down at his free-worldian pajamas. "No, I was just deciding what to wear. What do you wear to a coronation?"  
  
"Well, you personally should wear green. It would accent your eyes, and that's important because most sylphs have purple eyes. You will be seen as exotic." Caelum sniffed, but there was still a question in Liamh's eyes. "No, you shouldn't wear a mask. Wear a headdress. If you wear a mask, the people won't trust you."  
  
"Oh, thank you." Liamh stuttered a bit.  
  
"No more stuttering. You need to show that you're young but strong to your people. Remember our speech classes." Caelum stood in the doorway awkwardly for a little while then seemed to remember something. "Eldrid wishes to see you after you're ready." With that, she turned abruptly and left.  
  
"Right. Green." Liamh went back to the void that was his wardrobe, and pulled out an elegant green . . . something. What it was, he did not know, but it looked like getting into it would be a feat that was, yes, very dangerous, but would never be shown in a circus.  
  
The front of the top looked as though it was done in Renaissance style (which it was), for there was a sort of upside-down triangle that looped around the waist and went slightly downwards in the front. From there, there was another upside down triangle shape, this one thin, and going only to the top of the . . . whatever you'd call it . . . that was a deep, royal purple, with lavender designs in the middle. The back of the front was a corset, but when Liamh had tried it on in the shop, he had found that it was comfortable enough, and was basically just for decoration. The bottom was what made it look more like wizard's robes than a dress, because they were somewhat bulky, but at about knee-length, they slit into several different strips that hung down to Liamh's feet.  
  
It took him a while to realize that he needed to unlace the back in order to slip it over his head. However, this did not ensure that it came over his head, necessarily. He tugged it down, fighting with it, until it fit into the curves of his body perfectly. Then he realized that he had to lace up the back. Needless to say, that whole idea eventually flopped, and he blew the hair out of his face, making sure that it sufficiently covered the lacings in the back, and set off to find Eldrid's office again.  
  
The sunlight streamed in through the windows, the light dusting of snow on the ground glimmering in its rays. It was beautiful. The quality of sunlight in the winter is a strange thing. It is so much more crystalline pure that you could almost say that winter is the time when everything floats. It's hazy. Inside the palace, the serving sylphs were hard at work. Everywhere he went, there were sylphs working on decorations, getting everything put together just right for the coronation. It gave you a sense of busy serenity, laced with a sting of confusion. Liamh looked, but nowhere did he see Nikiatom, which probably meant that the shy sylph was off doing something else.  
  
The palace was, to say the least, an interesting building. There were spiral staircases that just happened to appear in the middle of rooms, accenting the circular appearance of the archetecture itself. All of the doors were circular, as were the hallways and the rooms. Most of the things in the rooms were simple, yet sophisticated in a way that would suggest that the sylphs didn't care about social structure. It looked as though it were just the huge house of a regular, run-of-the-mill sylph. The floors were all polished stone, the walls a rougher stone, and the windows didn't have glass in them. Of course, there was every once in a while a door from outside where it was higher off the ground, and mostly open. Something told Liamh that these were for sylphs who flew in. If the walls weren't covered with different shapes of windows, they were covered in paintings, strange art. Most of them were so realistic that you could get completely entranced by them.  
  
Liamh stopped to stare at one of two lovers meeting in the middle of the night. It was one of those moments when he just realized that the most important thing for him to do right now was to admire this one capture in the lives of two people. His green eyes locked on the two sylphs protrayed in a garden. After staring for a while, he could feel the cool breeze blow through his hair. He felt the worry of one of them; both tired from what they felt. The weight of a thousand years' worth of worries. Before long, he knew that they weren't supposed to be together; they were supposed to love others. One of the sylphs was comforting the other, whose face was buried in its lap. Liamh blinked. He was the one holding another, another with pale blonde hair, the other shaking with fear. He could feel it; it was almost as if he were actually sitting there, holding his love. He blinked, it was gone, he wasn't in the picture, and it had gone back to two anonymous sylphs. He shook himself, and hurried along his way.  
  
* * *  
  
Millicent Bulstrode rushed out of her house, bringing her scarf tighter around her neck against the cold.  
  
Her mother had been brutal to her yet again. She had gone on and on and on about how she should really just have plastic surgery and get it over with. To quote her "A Bulstrode is not supposed to look like someone ran into her headlong with a Firebolt."  
  
Millicent ran up to the little bench that stood hidden at the very edge of her families' land. She cried fierce tears, and screamed in frustration as they melded to her cheeks.  
  
* * *  
  
"You wanted to see me, Eldrid?"  
  
"Yes, I did. First of all, there are a few things that you should know, about the ceremony, that is." Eldrid motioned for Liamh to sit down in front of his desk. "It is a ball, but split into three parts. For the first part, you're going to be in a side room that Nikiatom will show you to later. There, you'll meet the Order, or, as your home country would put it, your cabinet or Parliament. From six to six thirty, the other Sylphs will get seated for the feast. After everyone is situated, you will be shown into the ballroom, announced, people will clap, and you will sit. After the feast, dancing will resume until about midnight. Then, you will see all the sylphs out at the door, shake hands, exchange a few words, and you can turn in or whatever else you would want to do."  
  
Liamh nodded his understanding.  
  
"Secondly, you must know that you are to have your own nurse. Well, not really a nurse, but more of a private helper."  
  
Liamh knitted his eyebrows. "Not like a servant, I assume?"  
  
"No. Nikiatom is just there to look after your quarters when you're gone, and to explain about things like the culture that surrounds you." Eldrid quirked an eyebrow. "Now, off with you. If I am not very much mistaken, you still have things to prepare." Liamh didn't ask how Eldrid knew. He had a feeling that things weren't kept secret around here.  
  
Liamh made his way back to his suite, his steps like a small lyre in a huge symphony of activity. He whistled slightly, doing a little dance within his steps. Perhaps being the monarch wouldn't be quite so bad.  
  
* * *  
  
Millicent had been outside for hours. She was no longer crying, but she was frigid cold, and her breath came in ragged gasps. The cold winter air had knocked the wind out of her.  
  
It took a while before her breathing had become regular enough to hear the figure behind her raise its brutal sword.  
  
* * *  
  
When Liamh walked into his suite, he found Nikiatom cleaning up in his bedroom. The other sylph was silent, not complaining or anything. Liamh knew that Nikiatom had probably been doing work like this all her life. He trodded quietly, gazing upon his new 'maid' (A/N: giggle) with the same sort of curiosity that comes from hearing one's neighbor positively screaming 'Aggadoo' while sitting in the tub with the window wide open.  
  
It was curious how the sun seemed to release the golden highlights in his hair. Nikiatom was attractive; that much was apparent. Then again, all sylphs were. They fit together so much more perfectly than mortals did. However, for all his curiosity, Liamh found he had no attraction whatsoever to the mysterious, shy sylph that was currently making his bed. He entered the room and awkwardly stood there, snapping his fingers in turn with letting his arms swing slightly.  
  
"Oh," Nikiatom noticed him, and meekly went back to what he was doing. Liamh stood there for a few more seconds, growing more and more restless, until he just couldn't bear it any more than he already had, and nearly jogged over to help her. Nikiatom glanced up in shock at this display of equality, and immediately flushed red. "Sorry, but could you please straighten your back, mem?"  
  
Mem? Thought Liamh. It must be used like 'sir.' Nonetheless, he did as was told, and remarked, "What?"  
  
"It's just," Nikiatom's blush deepened into a brick red, "I could see right straight down your top." With no further ado, Liamh found his hair set (for it wasn't pushed; it was politely placed on his shoulder) away from his back, and a sudden tightness in what he was wearing as the sylph tentatively laced the small girdle in the back. When the job was done, it was far easier to stand erect like they had wanted him to.  
  
After they had finished making the bed, Nikiatom set to fix Liamh's hair. He supposed he should get used to this kind of treatment; until he could fix things like his hair and the (Gods forbid!) things like girdles for himself, he'd need Nikiatom to do it for him. Nikiatom. Liamh pondered over his . . . well, sort of friend. It was clear that he had seen more than she let on. Why else wouldn't he speak so much? She was hiding something, and Liamh didn't yet know how to uncover it. He could feel the gentle- terrified? -hands bring his hair into an intricate working of knots that held each other up. Dazed, Liamh looked into the mirror to find that all three feet of his hair was being pulled to rest comfortably around his head, ears somewhat hanging out. Then again they were now long and pointed, and so much more elegant than they had been before, when they were mortal ears. Nikiatom had finished quickly and was finding Liamh's headdresses. Without asking, he found them hanging where Liamh had hung them just last night. She set it on Liamh's head, then delicately rearranged it so the hanging bits weren't overlapping too much. Liamh smiled at him, and she shyly quirked the edges of his mouth.  
  
* * *  
  
What is that strange sound above my head? Were the last thoughts of Millicent before the sword plunged into her back.  
  
* * *  
  
Liamh stood, hugging his arms close to his body and staring out the window. He tried to remember all that he had been taught yesterday; how to stand, how to sit, how to speak, how to dance . . . the list went on and on. Luckily, he was able to imitate the sylphs as he saw them. Right now he was waiting for the first few members of the Order to come in and speak with him. And here came one now.  
  
It was a stuffy looking sylph, in their costume that told other sylphs that this was not a sylph to question. The hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and Liamh was reminded of his former Professor McGonagall. Mixed with Percy Weasley. This would be interesting.  
  
"Hello there. I'm assuming that you are our next monarch." The sylph held out a hand. "I'm Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third. And, you are called . . .?"  
  
"Liamh. If you want to hear my full name, it's Harrison Liamh Potter." Liamh felt a tone of amusement go into his voice as he took the offered hand.  
  
"I must admit, I had my doubts, but you (he said the word like a car salesman would) will do adequately."  
  
"Really? What were your doubts?" Liamh asked, innocently enough.  
  
"Well, you're so young. I thought it would have been foolish to bring someone such as you, and at your age, into the court, and expect you to serve the ball. It just doesn't happen. You'll do just fine, I see." With a swish of her over-velvety cloak, Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third was gone.  
  
Next came a bunch of hypocritical well wishers. They weren't so blunt as Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third, but Liamh could tell that they weren't as supportive of him, and were somewhat skeptical that he would be a good monarch. It was in the way they checked his handgrip when they shook, how they looked at his posture, how they tried to mark what he was thinking from his face. He had a strange feeling that the ball was much more fun outside the little room that was being used for first introductions. He almost wished he were meeting the people, not the Order. However, he supposed he'd have to meet them eventually if he didn't meet them here.  
  
The next person to walk in was another Order member. This one looked suspicious of him, and Liamh was instantly reminded of Snape. Their cloak was all black, and billowed out behind them, and as soon as this sylph spoke, Liamh heard cynicism, with a dash of irritation fight for control of this sylph's voice.  
  
"You. You look too young. Your name is Liamh, as I've heard. My name is Amadeus. I never want to hear that name escape your lips. You can refer to me only as mem." Amadeus eyed Liamh with contempt. "It is not wise to let you rule here. You are too naive. Do you realize what times we are in, Liamh?"  
  
"No, mem."  
  
"Our people are starving. We're dying out. There is not enough substantial food to go around. Yet we still remain trapped in this wretched hole. We can not go out. That would be suicide. We must remain here." Amadeus paused for dramatic effect. "We are soon to be as non-existent as the wizards think we are."  
  
Liamh let these words sink in, his nerves trembling. Then, from somewhere he didn't know about, composure rose up in him, surfacing to create a calm façade.  
  
"Why exactly would it be suicide to travel up to the surface?" He asked Amadeus calmly.  
  
"As long as Voldemort reigns, we are a target for his research."  
  
"Interesting. What have the sylphs done to stop him in the past?" Liamh crossed his arms in a gesture of mock inquisition.  
  
"Nothing. Well, your sire did some things, but they were purely of his own independence."  
  
"So, what you're saying, is that we can not go to the surface because of Voldemort. So we just starve down here while the Ministry of Magic upstairs flounders for help, and will eventually fail. Our people may be dying, mem, but they certainly aren't living in fear of each other." There came a light knock on the door, and Danu poked her head in, asking if Amadeus was finished. With a glare at Danu, and a quick handshake with Liamh, the pompous sylph left the room.  
  
There was only one really encouraging Order member to walk through those doors, and the name of the sylph was Lemagne.  
  
"You must be our new leader," Lemagne said breathlessly upon meeting Liamh. "I've heard of you, and I inquired as to what you had done before you came here. It is an honor, privilege, and a pleasure to meet you at last."  
  
Liamh smiled at him, and shook her hand. "The pleasure is all my own. You are the first Order member to compliment me."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes. You are different. Tell me, Lemagne, what makes you so trusting and merciful when compared against all the other Order members?" Liamh could hear just a hint of amusement in his voice.  
  
"Well, I was the only one who was the child of an Order member. I knew that it isn't very likely that a new member, especially a young one, that didn't grow up here, was raised in the Free World, no less, would be accepted with open arms. You've just been through so much in your life already, the others don't realize . . ." The black sylph trailed off.  
  
"They don't realize what?" Liamh asked, intrigued.  
  
"They don't realize the real threat here. They don't realize how much He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named effects us. They don't realize that your personal problems with him are inevitably going to catch up with us all. They either know, or choose to ignore it. Eldrid doesn't ignore; he never did as a stand-in ruler. I should know. She chooses his battles; she knows when something needs to be taken care of; so do you."  
  
Liamh stood, complimented beyond his own belief, and thanked her. After Lemagne left, he sighed. Well, he'd met all of them all right.  
  
* * *  
  
"What do you think they wanted, Madam?" The Auror asked Mrs. Bulstrode.  
  
"I don't know. No one does. May I be frank with you, Mr. Macmillan?"  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"She didn't have enough brains to get anyone angry enough at her to kill her."  
  
Mr. Macmillan nodded and jotted something down in his little notebook. He put it away, smiled at her, and went on with his inquiries. "Did she have anything of any real value?"  
  
"Value? Oh, no, I don't think so. She had a lot of jewelry, but they were all imitations of really important jewels, all of them plastic."  
  
He decided that perhaps it would just be wiser to keep his little notebook out.  
  
"Like, what kind of imitations?"  
  
"Well, there was the imitation necklace for the Hope Diamond, as you can see was around her neck at the time of her death. Ironic, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes, very."  
  
"Then there was the imitation earrings of the ones Mrs. Malfoy wore the night that their first son was inflicted with the vampire disease; later she killed him wearing the same pair of earrings. She also had the imitations of the famed Jewels of York, and the mythological sylph's necklace." She had her eyes raised to the sky as if she were ticking them off in her head.  
  
"Did you say the mythological sylph's necklace?" He asked, furiously scribbling while he wrote.  
  
"Yes. Mythological. Of course, you can't honestly still believe that sylphs are real, can you, Mr. Macmillan?"  
  
"Oh, no, it's just that . . ."  
  
"I'd say you were quite ridiculous."  
  
"It's just that young Mr. Potter was expelled for being half-sylph." He added, a hint of triumph in his voice.  
  
"Oh, well, I heard Millicent say something along those lines, but she was such a silly girl that she is not to be taken seriously."  
  
There was a moment of awkward silence.  
  
"Well, I'd best be going."  
  
"Yes, I suppose so."  
  
* * *  
  
Liamh felt as if he were on showcase. Danu had just announced him to the rest of the sylphs, and that was actually a terribly small number. There couldn't have been more than 500 sylphs all together. The food had been laid out on the tables. What the sylphs called a 'feast' was actually no more than what you would expect at Hogwarts on a regular day. Food is scarcer here, the thought whizzed through his mind, he didn't know exactly where it came from.  
  
Well, he didn't just feel as if he was on showcase; he was on showcase. All eyes were on him. He was shown over to where all the other Order members were dining. He hesitated. Should he sit here, or with the people? With a quick judgement call, he decided that it would be safest to sit with the Order. If he sat with the people, then they'd feel jealous of whoever was at the table with him, and he couldn't have that. He made a mental note to try and meet every person in the room.  
  
He took a seat, everyone's eyes still on him, but it was Eldrid who stood.  
  
Raising one hand, he said, "You may dine."  
  
Instantly, the dance hall erupted in talk. Liamh took a glance around. The tables were set up so that the dance floor was in the middle, and people could sit out if they so chose. The floor, he noticed, was polished. At least, it had the look of being polished. As was usual in the Underworld, it had two sides. Two sides to the mirror; the surface, and then the slight crevace between the mirror and the wall where things could be stashed and no one would be the wiser. Liamh laughed to himself. What lies beneath. It was a concept that had come with him through his whole life. What had lain beneath the Dursleys' bully-ish exterior was an interior made up of pure fear for Liamh. For Harry. That was what he used to be called. What had lain beneath his runtish exterior when he was younger was the ability to take on anything that swung his way. Even if that thing was so powerful that if he made one wrong move, he'd be the night's rump roast. Voldemort. What lay beneath his evil exterior was actually just anger at being a half- blood. Where had that understanding come from? Liamh shrugged it away. There were always several angles to everything. In order to make his way through this world, he'd have to look at things at all angles. This would be a perfect place for Hermione.  
  
The talk at this table was, unfortunately, of things that Liamh couldn't try to understand yet. He'd only been here for two days, after all. Thankfully, that all ended soon. The small symphony (if that's what they were called in this world) worked its way back to the stage, amid great applause from the sylphs who had already heard them, and started to play what was the equivalent of a slow waltz in the Free World. However, this sounded a bit like a cross between Celtic rock and Within You, Without You by the Beatles. The other sylphs got up to dance, laughing as their partners (Liamh didn't know if sylphs went through wedding ceremonies yet) pulled them close, causing the younger ones to roll their eyes at the mushy- ness of it all. Liamh noticed Nikiatom was walking toward him across the dance floor. He raised his eyebrows, and Nikiatom held out a hand.  
  
"I'm supposed to dance with you first." He blushed, as Liamh stood to meet her. They danced for a while, Liamh trying to follow as best he could. Liamh tried to break the ice for his shy dance partner.  
  
"Who were you sitting with?" Liamh asked as it came to a part that would make it easy for talk.  
  
"My Grandsylph."  
  
"Oh."  
  
So much for conversation.  
  
The song ended, leaving a thankful Nikiatom to go and sit with his Grandsylph. Liamh had a feeling that they didn't need words to communicate. His next partner turned out to be a forward sylph, who introduced themself so quickly that Liamh eventually just ended up calling them brooch in his mind from the large piece of jewelry on their blouse.  
  
"I honestly thought you'd be taller." Brooch commented.  
  
"Yes, well, there's really nothing I could do about that." He laughed.  
  
"The feast was great. I don't think I've eaten so much since the winter solstice."  
  
"Really."  
  
"My house is about as big as this entrance hall. Although, I wouldn't have decorated it the way it is. It doesn't go at all with the season."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
You can probably imagine how the rest of this dance was spent.  
  
Next up on Liamh's dance card was a shrewd-looking sylph with a knack for finding the complete wrongness in everything surrounding them. The name of this partner was Shilee.  
  
"Why would they spend so much on the food when there are people in our world who needed it?"  
  
"Yeah, well, they ate here." He stuttered.  
  
"Well, did you miss my point?"  
  
From here, Shilee went on to describe how everyone didn't have space to breathe because they had to live in a pretend underground world and were all starving in turn. From there he started to go on and on about how most sylphs weren't seeing that they could live in a different situation. Liamh partly agreed that there were ways they could make this better, but they just hadn't gone to those lengths yet. Shilee covered the topics of politicians (all the while trying very hard not to insult Liamh), inexperienced rulers (here Liamh almost choked), and how they shouldn't be partying, but rather fasting, and drying their food so that it would last longer. Eventually, the dance had mercy and ended.  
  
When Liamh went to find his next dance partner, he was met with a surprise. It was a parent sylph, calmly wiping the tears from his child's eyes. The bearer had mousy brownish hair, and the child was crying through eyes that looked far too pained.  
  
"Hello, what's going on here?" He asked, looking down at the sylph who looked to be about five. The little sylph gasped, and buried his head in her bearer's bosom.  
  
"Oh, she's just been going through these bouts of pain, and tonight he had a big one."  
  
"Hm." Liamh bent so he was facing the five-year-old. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Everything hurts."  
  
"Oh, well, look at me." Liamh put his hands on her shoulders. "When I was little, I had to live with my mother's sister." The little sylph looked at him with big eyes.  
  
"What's a mother?"  
  
"Well, in the Free World, there are boys and girls. Girls are what you call the bearer here. Upstairs they call them mothers."  
  
The child was starting to forget about the pain.  
  
"Well, (I call her my aunt) they would ignore me if I had had to crawl home with two broken legs, and your bearer is trying her hardest to take away your pain. I think that you're very lucky, and that should be a reason to dry up those eyes and smile."  
  
The little sylph smiled, started to giggle, and buried herself in his bearer's gown.  
  
"What's your name?" He asked.  
  
"Lyra."  
  
Liamh had a flash of the little girl he had seen at Sirius' house, only now she was running through the streets of the sylph capital. He shook this off and looked to the bearer.  
  
"I think we were to dance next."  
  
Once they had started to dance on the floor (the song was about halfway through), the bearer (whose name was Kitri) couldn't thank Liamh enough.  
  
"You don't know how worried I'm starting to get about Lyra. She's been getting all of these funny pains all over the place, and-"  
  
"Don't worry about it. I can't stand to see anyone sad." Liamh smiled at him.  
  
"How long have you been here? I don't remember ever seeing you here before. You must not have been here long, because if you had been, trust me, I would have seen you."  
  
"Well, I just got here yesterday."  
  
She did a double take. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm really sort of worried, how am I doing?"  
  
"You're doing very well. But I must say, if I weren't so much older than you, I'd say your accent was charming." She smiled at him. It was a sad, small smile.  
  
"Really? How did you know how old I am?" He asked.  
  
"I was the one who told people the next monarch was born."  
  
"Oh." The song was done. "It was very nice meeting you. Hopefully I'll see you again." They smiled at each other, and Kitri went back to attend to Lyra.  
  
* * *  
  
About an hour later found Liamh in the arms of a sylph that seemed positively amorous of him. She stared at him with his large eyes. Liamh, feeling extremely uncomfortable but not wanting to show it, was waiting desperately for whoever was supposed to cut in and dance with him for the second half of this song. Finally, he saw the sylph coming.  
  
"May I cut in?" The sylph said in a smooth voice.  
  
The sylph Liamh was currently dancing with sighed wistfully, and stepped away.  
  
"I could tell you were a bit harrassed." The sylph who cut in said conversationally.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"My name is Apaik. That's what you will call me, nothing more, nothing less."  
  
"And you may call me Liamh."  
  
They danced for a while in silence, and then Apaik started up conversation.  
  
"So, how different is it here as compared to upstairs?"  
  
"Which upstairs do you mean?" The words left Liamh's mouth before he could tell what he was saying.  
  
"Whichever is more comfortable." Apaik leered at him. Hurriedly, Liamh tried to direct the subject towards something safer that didn't have a double meaning.  
  
"The Free World is exactly what the name implies; free. However, here I must say art is so much more of an indulgence. It's in the archetecture, the paintings, the language, everything. This world is so much deeper spiritually." He was rambling, and they both knew it.  
  
The song came to an end, and they separated on the dance floor. Then a strange occurrence came to be; Apaik looked Liamh up and down, then winked. Reaching for the front of Liamh's top, he pulled it up, right in between where his breasts were just starting to grow.  
  
"Wouldn't want that to fall down," he leered at Liamh, sounding as if she wished exactly the opposite.  
  
Apaik turned on his heel and left.  
  
* * *  
  
Ron was sitting on his bed, reading. This, in itself was strange, but the fact that he was reading a huge book on transfiguration was even stranger. And it was not just any kind of transfiguration. No, this was glamour, the impossible in theory kind of transfiguration where you only do it halfway, so that others can't see what's real and imagination. It was extremely complex, why should the youngest Weasley brother be looking through this material?  
  
It was a letter and loan from Hermione. He had read:  
  
Ron,  
  
I found this in my parent's cabin. Would you believe that we had a whole mess of Wizard books here? I was reading through this, and I thought we should study this. Doesn't it seem like a sylven thing? I wonder if this kind of magic is actually possible. Could you please check up with your dad on this? Maybe he'd know someone in magical research or something that could explain it further.  
  
Hermione  
  
So now he was so wrapped up in the book that he couldn't put it down until he finished it. This was so enchanting. Dimly, he wondered when he'd get a letter from Harry. It had been a long time since he had seen him. Well, it had only been three days, but still. His mind went back to the book. Maybe he'd ask Professor McGonagall for help whenever it was that they'd get back.  
  
* * *  
  
The ball was almost over. Somehow, Liamh had danced with almost everyone there except for the other Order members. At the moment, he was dancing with Nikiatom, who hadn't been on the floor all night. His mind, however, was elsewhere. His partner seemed to have noticed, as he didn't move his gaze from the same spot.  
  
"Have you ever met Apaik?" Liamh asked Nikiatom. There was a flash of something in Nikiatom's eyes. Anger?  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well, I just was dancing with her. So, I wondered if you'd ever met him."  
  
"You beware of her." The conviction in Nikiatom's voice scared Liamh slightly; he had never heard this side of him. Usually she was so quiet.  
  
"I'll take your word on that."  
  
They danced for a while, until Nikiatom said she was going home and Liamh was left standing in the middle of the dance floor.  
  
Suddenly, the party wasn't right anymore. It had tilted. It was mocking, the dream-like state of the laughing sylphs staring him blaringly in the face. He wanted to talk to someone who was as forward as he was used to in the Upper world. Then he didn't. Perhaps subtlety was what kept these people focusing on their tortured world where they didn't have enough space to grow food and remained stuck in a little box. Limah cautiously walked over to the drink stand, getting a friuty but bland, foamy drink. Liamh saw Lyra standing over in a corner, looking down into her own drink.  
  
"Well, are you bored?" Liamh asked her with a smile.  
  
"Yes, I am," Lyra took a sip of his drink. "Are you going to be leaving soon?"  
  
"I have to leave after everyone else. It's just one of my duties as monarch." Liamh felt eyes on his back, and turned to see that Apaik was looking at him over her partner's shoulder.  
  
"Bearer says that you dance like an angel."  
  
Liamh smiled. "Well, I just learned yesterday, I personally don't think I'm that good. And how did you know about angels?"  
  
"Brother Nikiatom got me books all about them."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes. They were really good. But there were a lot of things in them that I didn't understand because it was written in the Upper World."  
  
Liamh pondered this new information. "How did she get them?" He inquired.  
  
"Well, he was up there, wasn't she?" The little sylph stared into her drink. Liamh saw his Bearer coming.  
  
"We have to go home, don't we Lyra?" Kitri said to her child. He looked up to Liamh. "Thank you for looking after her. He's gotten away from me more than once."  
  
"Any time."  
  
They smiled, then Kitri took hold of Lyra's hand. Lyra looked back at Liamh and waved silently. Liamh waved back. He really didn't feel like dancing anymore; he supposed it was his mother's non-sylph influence, but his leg muscles had started to burn from the workout of their form of ballet-like dance. He went off onto the small balcony that would have led off into the gardens, had it not been winter.  
  
The moonlight felt good on his skin, which was hot from the dancing. The snow had been cleared, so their feet wouldn't get cold, but it was still pretty warm for the winter. He set his drink down and stared to the heavens. What could they tell him? It was strange, to look to the clear-cut sky as if he were in the Free world. He knew that they were somewhere far beneath the grass that brushed the top of the world. It must have been the same kinds of spells and enchantments that were on the Hogwarts' Great Hall ceiling. He let a cold breeze run across his face. He shivered. Tonight something big was going to happen. Liamh started; someone had put their arm around his waist.  
  
"What-?" He turned to face whoever-it-was.  
  
"Hello, Liamh." Apaik crooned in his ear.  
  
"What are you doing?" He whispered without emotion.  
  
"Well, if you really must know, I'm going to kiss you." Apaik said, leaning closer to Liamh's face. Then she spoke in a whisper that chilled Liamh to the bone. "Whether you like it or not."  
  
"I'm sorry, but I just met you." Liamh said, slightly wrestling to get out of Apaik's grip. He turned to go back to the safety of indoors, feeling the angry glare of the other's eyes on the back of his neck.  
  
* * *  
  
"Mother, do you remember the names of the people who lived here before us?" Hermione asked her mother after she had caught her on her own.  
  
"No, not really. I just remember that they had a daughter with a Shakespearean name. I can't remember whether it was Juliet or Othello, though." Her mother said, vaguely looking up from the cleaning of the living room after the party.  
  
"Really? Um, do you remember what they did?"  
  
"I have no idea. The father was some sort of . . . oh, god, it's hard to remember . . . businessman, I think. Her mother was a craftswoman. The father died somehow after both his wife and daughter had. I don't know. I can't really remember. Ask me some other time, when I'm not so distracted, okay, honey?"  
  
"All right, mum, goodnight." Hermione said warmly, and walked over to kiss her mother goodnight.  
  
  
  
A/N- I know, I know, there's absolutely no romance yet. There won't be for another few chapters, anyway. I think that I need to get one big thing out of the way before I get the characters (other than Ron and Hermione) to act all romance-ish. Don't worry, I have it planned! You've met several very important characters in this chapter, mainly just sylphs, and a side plot of a murder mystery got started because I was getting bored. ;)  
  
Thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers, here is where I'm going to reply to your thoughts:  
  
Clepsydra-Delphinus - I'm glad you liked it! I hope it seemed real, you know, if it came across as it happened in my imagination. I'm planning on going on to FictionAlley next, and just upload everything that's done, so that these two sites are on the same schedule. However, FictionAlley will be slower, because they send stuff back to be edited and things like that, so the version there will probably be a lot more revised and refined. About reading things on other sites, I do it too. I'm just as sad as you are.  
  
Gia and Midnight Dragon - Soon enough? :D  
  
Phoenix - I'm glad that you like this story enough to be excited about it! It just makes me feel like such a loved author.  
  
nell-and-paru - Sorry, Draco doesn't get uncontrolled for a while. (  
  
Thank you again to everyone who reads this, you don't know how happy it makes me! 


	9. Chapter 9: Correspondence

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story does include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
  
Chapter 9: Correspondence  
  
They gave Liamh a day to take off before he had to start his education of the sylph world. Which was good, on his part, because from there he could explore the palace more thoroughly. It also gave him time to think over what he had to do.  
  
The palace wasn't any more confusing than Hogwarts was, but that was only because it was smaller by a great deal. There were countless secret doors, all of which Liamh was determined to discover when he came to them. Sometimes, because he was a sylph and his vision was now better than human vision, he could see them as plain as anything. Other times he just got a feeling of where they were. Which was strange, because somehow, he never got lost. Somehow, he knew where things were. After all, this was his world, and Hogwarts wasn't. He supposed he shouldn't feel at home here, but he did.  
  
However, all good things must eventually come to an end, and the next day, Liamh was escorted to an empty room they could use for a classroom. He was not surprised to see that it was Caelum who would be his teacher.  
  
"We meet again, Liamh."  
  
"Yes, mem."  
  
"I can see you've been praciticing your speech."  
  
"It was necessary."  
  
"Today, I figured, since it's winter and we won't be able to start your swordplay and swordless fighting techniques, that instead we'd work on a simple lesson on how the Order works, as you will have to start seeing them even though you're still learning." Liamh nodded his ascention. "From there, we'll work on literature, music, art, glamour, history, and sociology. You already know maths, Transfiguration, reading, writing, charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, we'll have to work on potions, we have much simpler potions created here, herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy (you'll have to learn our form of Astrology), Divination (absolutely pointless), and am I missing anything?"  
  
"Quidditch." Liamh quickly bit his tongue as Caelum gave him a quizzical look. "Nevermind."  
  
"When the weather permits, we'll also have to work on your flying skills. I think Nikiatom will explain the basics to you. All you have to do is ask him."  
  
They stood there awkwardly for a while, as Liamh tried to summon up the courage to ask Caelum about something.  
  
"Um, er, Caelum?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Liamh hesitated. "What about . . . well, you know. What about that?"  
  
"No, no I don't know."  
  
"Er, well, in the Free World, we have a class that we call . . ." Liamh ran a hand through his long hair, got it tangled, pouted while he wrenched his fingers from the long raven strands, and looked at his bare feet. "Human Growth and Development." He blushed a pretty scarlet and continued to scrutinize his shoes.  
  
"Oh," When he looked up, Caelum was blushing too. "Well, that is very . . . different from what you would know . . . and it . . . um . . . brings me to the next point." Liamh looked up at her. "I need to give you this." He handed Liamh a tattered leather book. It looked like it was patched together by a lot of stitches.  
  
Liamh took it, thanked her, and opened it. There was nothing inside. He queried silently to Caelum.  
  
"Well, we have limited resources here, so we make books that can be transfigured into any book, play, or anything else written by a sylph. All you have to do is ask someone who's already read the book to transfigure it for you. Our library has all the original copies in existance. Knowledge doesn't cost anything here; it's paid for by the Order. Now, if you'll let me see that book again, I'll make it into what I want you to read, cover to cover. There will be a section in there on . . . sylph maturity and . . . how to get there."  
  
"Oh, okay."  
  
By the end of this little session, Liamh knew exactly how the Order worked. The Order members were there to make sure that the Monarch was making the right decisions. A lot of them were also tutors to little sylphs, and acted as secretaries, making sure that everyone had enough money. They really didn't need to use money most of the time, because they were such a closely- knit community. The Order also were to send representatives with the Monarch when they had to go to meet other Immortals, or other things like that. Basically they were the people who kept the Monarch in check.  
  
Crime was looked upon in a strange way here in the Underworld. Since it was more than likely that any sylph could foresee when a crime/murder was commited, they were careful to be good, because when one sylph figured it out, they could use a spell to have the Order see their vision. Most of the time, these offenders were locked away in a special kind of place. It was like the Underworld, only in a different location. There, they'd be separated along with the other criminals, while being watched by the member of the Order that was in charge of this, so that they were restricted from anything like a relationship, or, more acurately, love. They usually lived a life of comfortable, torturing solitude. That was enough to make sylphs only commit a crime in extremely special circumstances. Sylphs thrived off love.  
  
* * *  
  
Dear Ron/Hermione,  
  
I know, it's been a long time since I wrote you a letter (after all, I got here all of three days ago), but until now, I just didn't know how.  
  
You would never believe it here! The sylphs have this whole culture to themselves, an incorporated culture where being frugal is a good thing because they don't have enough room for extra and everything can neither be said to be feminine or masculine just simply because no one knows that men and women are so different.  
  
You'd love it here, Herm, you'd find it absolutely amazing. They even have a different kind of money! You could spend an entire year here doing 'scientific research' for the Ministry and you still wouldn't understand anything unless you were actually a sylph. Or part of one anyway.  
  
However, Ron, I don't know about you. There's no Quidditch. I don't think you'd like that.  
  
Where should I start?  
  
Well, once I got here (I can't give you directions because I'm a little shaky on it myself), I was escorted into this old sylph's office. Eldrid. Remember, my leige? From there I found out that I'm actually supposed to serve as Monarch here and be the ruler of these people. That was a shock, and they let me have a night to myself to let it sink in.  
  
The next day, I was taken shopping! Apparently, Hogwarts robes are not accepted here. Anyway, after I got a completely new wardrobe (and jewelry to boot), I was whisked off to the hair stylist. There, they made my hair so long that now, I can tuck it into my belt (if I ever were to wear one).  
  
When we got back from that, I had to have lessons in finetics, dining, dancing, posture, and basically everything that a matchmaker is supposed to do. All of this because the day before yesterday they had to give me a sort of coronation. At the coronation, they had a ball, and at the ball, I, of course, had to dance with EVERYONE.  
  
I must say that I've met several cool sylphs. First, the one that brought me here and took me shopping, Danu. However, Danu sort of reminds me of Percy, in the fact that both of them take pride in their work and try to bustle through it. Nikiatom is really quiet, but a good person to know when it comes down to it. That's my maid/butler/servant that is really none of them. Rather, a strange sort of confidante. At the ball, I met all of the Order members, most of which were not pleased at my age, but generally polite. I also met a sylph named Kitri and the child, Lyra. Lyra's really sweet, and extremely smart, like everyone else here. Kitri will be a good friend of mine. Caelum was the sylph who taught me about posture, elecution, culture and stuff like that. Kinda stuffy, but all around nice.  
  
Then there was something else. A sylph named Apaik, who was so forward in their attraction to me that she/he pulled up the front of my robes/gown. Right between what I think is the development of something like breasts. Later that night, I refused Apaik's attentions. I just know something will come of that, but I was never good at Divination. Was it a good move? Bad? I'm so confused. I can't wait for your replies.  
  
Harry  
  
PS-When you have a response written, just send it with Hedwig. She'll know what to do. Oh, and to whoever gets this first, send it through Hedwig to the other with your reply.  
  
* * *  
  
Liamh looked up at the sky. It was dark, as was usual. Caelum was teaching him something, and he looked back at his teacher. He mentally grumbled about the cold, rubbing his now adorably red nose and trying to remain warm. Why did they have to go outside for this lesson?  
  
"Everything you see here does not exist," he stated suddenly, drawing his pupil's attention away from the cold.  
  
"Excuse me for saying this, but that's impossible where I come from," Liamh said, turning to face the instructor.  
  
"Our world is entirely made up of glamour. It is a very hard process, turning the air into objects (you'll learn how to do that soon enough.) The problem that we have is that while the plants here keep the air circulating, during the winter we have to do without a lot of the stuff we'd normally have during the other seasons. There is a scarcity of plants, there's a scarcity of necessity.  
  
"And that's why the people are starving. That's why we don't have enough food. We've been saving food for years to make enough for the coronation feast. Of course, there are spells that keep it good, but it has a certain lackluster quality that you wouldn't find in the Upper world. Everything you see, we created. We made the sky here imitate the one outside so that sylphs would feel more at home. We create food out of air because we have limited space to grow things and still keep livestock. This area is simply too small for us, no matter what Amadeus says," Caelum finished bitterly.  
  
"So nothing we have is real?" Liamh asked, the gravity of the situation closing in on him.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
* * *  
  
Liamh soon finished the history lessons with Caelum (there really wasn't a lot of complicated history in a world where the people were forced to live in a child's game of make-believe), and was soon onto literature, which, in itself, was interesting. Because sylvan fiction was mainly set in the Free World, and they had no notion of what it was like to actually live there. This set for an extraodinarily amusing experience to Liamh. The viewpoint was so naiive, yet so completely adult that it made for an experience to keep him interested.  
  
Whilst he spent most winter days reading, Caelum was introducing him slowly to all different sorts of instruments. The two that Liamh started on were in both worlds; the piano and the guitar. While he was doing a study one day, Caelum brought out a sitar, and Liamh took to that at an amazing pace. Bagpipes were studied next, then the violin, then they started in on instruments that were totally new to Liamh. Soon, Liamh could play instruments that he had never even heard of, the sylvan instruments. All sylphs loved all different kinds of music, and all played at least one instrument. They were, by nature, quick to learn, and Caelum was amazingly pleased with Liamh's progress.  
  
Art was also highly appraised in the Sylvan world. All different kinds of styles that he had seen in the Free World paled into insignificance when put next to Sylvan art. The colors were so vibrant that they actually were somehow done so that whatever mood you were in, when you looked at the artwork, you'd like it because it changed shades. Things were not made to move, rather, a charming little spell was put on it so you felt that you were in the piece. Liamh had experienced this for the first time when he was going to Eldrid's office on the day of his coronation. But there was another reason that artwork was prized in the Sylph world. There was something in it a lot of times that often triggered a slight flash of something that was important. A glimpse of the future. It was deeply moving, and life changing, to go to a gallery.  
  
This couldn't last forever, and Liamh was starting to dread the first meeting of the Order.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry,  
  
Well, why the (scribble out) are you so worried about your first Order meeting? Were you completely oblivious to the Hall when you were explaining about the Death Eater? We were riveted! I was even riveted and I've heard that story countless times! You'll be just fine. I don't understand how you can be so unconscious to this fact.  
  
By the way, I've been meaning to ask you something. What was the name of Sirius' love? Othello? I don't know. I think our cabin might have been where she lived before she moved in with Sirius. Remember the huge book collection? The hidden library? I don't know. It seems so eerie.  
  
Speaking of which, do the sylphs use glamour? Because in the wizard world, it's been deemed impossible. It was in one of the books that I found here. Answer back. I really need to know. Perhaps I'm too curious.  
  
Did you know that Millicent Bullstrode was murdered? I mean, I didn't like her, but it's strange, to have someone our age actually be a target. Of course, that really isn't helping the teachers get us to school any faster. Goll! I hope Ron's actually doing all the extra assigned homework that we were given. If he's not, I don't know what I'm going to do with him. I'm starting to wonder if he's a lost cause. Oh, well, I'm kind of bitter to write that it's really not my problem anymore.  
  
Sincerely, Hermione.  
  
PS-Don't tell Ron about the Sirius' love thing. I don't think he even remembers that. And could you explain that to me? We never got around to discussing it on our own.  
  
* * *  
  
"Visions are the sylph way of getting news. Then they spread it through a complicated system of rumors, however, to one who doesn't know how to take these images of the past, present, or future, they can be a stupefying or even terrifying experience." Caelum let these words sink in. "A lot of the time, sylphs will see something that doesn't need to be shown to anyone else. These visions are personal, and are often the most confusing."  
  
"Is that so we don't know what will happen in our future?" Liamh asked.  
  
"Well, yes and no. We aren't supposed to know our future, but we are often warned about the future of others in the very same dream. Sometimes it is best to keep quiet, sometimes you must tell the person something about your dream. It all depends on what you see."  
  
Liamh pondered on this for a moment.  
  
"That is the reason for which all sylphs must have a pensieve. We can take our last vision and put it in the bowl, and learn a part of what it means. They don't do all the work for you, however, but they do a lot of it."  
  
"I've heard of a pensieve before! Professor Dumbledore has one in his office." Liamh exclaimed.  
  
"Ah, yes, a gift from us to his family. Normally wizarding pensieves are a lot less perceptive than his is. They don't have the means by which to create something so firmly planted in the unreal.  
  
"Anyway, a lot of visions can be painful. Particularly visions that have something to do with a person who knew something about a dead person who's very close to you. Hence, your visions of Voldemort are painful because he killed your parents. These visions are often of what is happening, not of what will. Rarely they are of what has already happened, but that has been a reality in the past. If you'll please, for this lesson today, read up on visions and how to handle them. I want your response in essay form. You're dissmissed until after lunch."  
  
* * *  
  
Liamh sat up in his bath, gasping for breath as he pushed the hair from his face. Hermione. Hermione might die soon. He calmed himself down, hurriedly remembering that it was a vision, and that he should check the Orb to see what he should do.  
  
He got up out of the tub and wrapped a Free-world bathrobe around himself. He went out into the living room and over to the Orb. He pulled it up against him, looking down into the center of the large globe. There, he saw not Hermione, not Ron, but Draco Malfoy. And he knew. He wasn't supposed to tell Hermione, Draco was. He went back to the warm waters to do a mind- probing.  
  
Draco's mind was very closed, there was a magical wall around it. He dug deeper, and found that it was put up by his father. He concentrated on Draco's thoughts, and his physical body slumped as his mental body left him. Slowly, the young ruler slipped into Draco Malfoy's mind as an object of some sort of comfort. He had a message to pass on, and he bloody well was going to do it. He firmly implanted it in Draco's head that he had to tell Hermione about this, and he knew, in a few days, it would be done.  
  
* * *  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
That must suck! No Quidditch?! How can you live without Quidditch?! You're the youngest Seeker in a century! How is it possible?  
  
Anyway, things are messed up in our household right now. Fred and George got in trouble with mom for getting a job at Dervish and Bangs. Percy has proposed to Penelope Clearwater and she said no, because she thought they were too young. Well, crikey, he's still living with us! What did he honestly think she was going to say? How does he possibly think he's stable enough to be married? Bill's eloped with some Egyptian chick because he thought mum wouldn't want him married to her, but she's just mad that we couldn't all be at the wedding. Dad's been promoted to Head of Department, which made mum VERY happy, if you get my drift. Charlie hasn't had work in ages, so he's decided to come visit. And, last but not least, Ginny's moping around because, apparently, she 'misses you.' Oh, wait, she wants to write a quick note. Hold on.  
  
Hi Harry! Ron forgot to mention that he's actually STUDYING for once! I mean, if nothing else was weird, THAT in itself would probably make mum cry-  
  
GINNY! Anyway, yes, I am studying, and without Hermione. That IS a scary thought.  
  
Don't worry about your first meeting. I'm sure you'll knock their socks off. Erm, if you guys wear socks. Um . . . anyway, I've got to go, as I'm the only one who isn't helping clean for Charlie, the twins are giving me rather nasty looks, which is never a good thing.  
  
Cheers! Ron.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco moaned as he tried to reach for parchment. His head was swimming and he couldn't think clearly. But he was doing the thinking. And therefore, he could do what he wanted. But oh, was his father putting up a fight. It was getting harder for him to see, he stumbled over his trunk, which he should have known was there. He forced himself to sit at his writing desk, and found his quill in his ink bottle. With a violent movement of his arms, he found the desk drenched in the blackness. He didn't care. The desk was already painted black anyway. Besides, he didn't have the strength to care.  
  
Taking out his sheet of parchment, he didn't need a lot, he tried to put his pen down on it. His father was really fighting him; he could barely see straight to write. Finally, he wrote the first words.  
  
To Hermione,  
  
His father's resolve cracked, and he managed to write the rest in a terribly untidy and unreadable scroll. But he wrote it.  
  
Someone going kill you. Knows your home cabin address. Coming soon. Get ready. Get out.  
  
At the signature, his arm spun out of control and he couldn't write it. Names are imprisoning. She wouldn't believe him if he wrote in his signature. And she had to believe him. After all, it was Harry Potter who had told him to write this letter. He couldn't go against the boy's word.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione ran up the stairs frantically. She had seen the owl before it had found a window, and she flung open the one in her bedroom. It dropped a letter disgruntedly in her lap, then flew back out the window. She quickly read through the messy scrawl, and it terrified her. There was a small pop in the distance but it was lost on her.  
  
She moved around her room, immediately obeying the letter's instructions. Normally, had she gotten a letter like this, she would have just pushed it aside, not think about it again. But somehow, the untidy script scared her. It was written as if the person who wrote it had been defying some strange urge to not write it. The urge seemed to come from somewhere outside the author's body. The footsteps that Hermione didn't notice were drawing nearer.  
  
After everything was packed, she realized that she should have had her wand with her all along. She mentally slapped herself for being so stupid. Soon, almost all the contents of her trunk were strewn across the floor of her room. She frantically pocketed it in her bathrobe, then threw everything back in. The unnoticed guest found an open window in the basement.  
  
Suddenly, she remembered that this wasn't Hogwarts, and that Harry and Ron weren't here to save her. She bolted down the stairs to tell her parents about the unwanted visitor, but stopped dead in her tracks at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
* * *  
  
"Arhtur, someone has disturbed the Muggles again," Perkins shouted to Mr. Weasley.  
  
"What did they do this time?" Mr. Weasley asked wearily.  
  
"Apparated right into the middle of their yard and took off for their neighbors' house. You should handle this one, I'm too old," Perkins grumbled.  
  
"You're always too old," Mr. Weasley grumbled after he had apparated. It was then that he saw the Dark Mark.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione and the Death Eater bellowed "Expelliarmus!" at the same time, and both wands flew from their hands. The Death Eater summoned his (Hermione could tell it was a 'he' from his voice) and Hermione had nothing left to do.  
  
* * *  
  
Liamh ran down the halls, gathering the thighs of his long pants in his hands. He couldn't be late. He wasn't. Yet. The conference hall was at the end of the corridor, and he was almost there. His hair flew out behind him, he hadn't had any time to braid it this morning. He was in luck, there were only a few Order members there. He slowed to a walk and entered the hall.  
  
In the center of it was a very large and very round table. He was reminded vaguely of the Arthurian legends in which Merlin told Arthur that he should use a round table, and not a square, because it showed that he thought of all of his knights and such as equals. He wondered if they had gotten the idea from the sylphs. He bowed his head in greeting to Eldrid and another Order member.  
  
He sat and waited patiently for the others to get here so they could start. Soon, all of the chairs were filled. Eldrid had explained to him what he was supposed to do as Monarch, and how this particular meeting was supposed to go. There was someone who had important information. He stood, but at the same time as Eldrid did, and so he waited patiently for the older sylph to say something.  
  
"Will the one of you that has information-"  
  
Here, Liamh calmly cleared his throat politely. Eldrid seemed to remember that he was there. "Right. Continue Liamh."  
  
"Anyway. Will the one of you that has the information and topic for this meeting please step forth and bring it out." Liamh sat back down, and let Amadeus take the stand.  
  
"A sylph has somehow managed to go missing. I do not know what for, but with my orb I checked all lands, and there was nothing that would remotely suggest that they are still within the boundaries of our world."  
  
"So you mean to say that we have to locate the sylph?" Eldrid said, cutting Liamh off as he was about to say something.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Who is it?" Lemagne asked.  
  
"Apaik."  
  
Liamh tried to say something, but was interrupted by another Order member.  
  
"Well, you said yourself that going into the Free World would be suicide, we can only assume that she will eventually die."  
  
"Can we?" Amadeus asked, raising an eyebrow delicately. "We have no reason to believe that Apaik would be suicidal. We have no reason to find anything that would remotely connect Apaik to the Free World and-"  
  
"I think our next form of business should be to figure out what to do," Eldrid said the words that Liamh had been trying to say all through this conversation.  
  
"Do? I don't think we really have to do anything. He'll die, that's all that we know. The Free World is too rich . . . it would unstabelize her balance all together. We do nothing," Amadeus whisked away the idea.  
  
"But he had to have gone up there for a reason," another Order member complied.  
  
"I agree with Tyrist, there's a reason for everything," Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third complied.  
  
"Oh, shut up, you pompous cow! You know nothing of these matters!" an especially blunt sylph lashed out viciously.  
  
And from there, things got steadily worse. The argument got more and more heated, and soon, the only ones who hadn't been insulted were Liamh and Eldrid. Eldrid made to open her mouth to say something to calm them, but, for the first time in the whole meeting, Liamh beat him to it.  
  
"Will you all not stop bickering like little children and listen to me?" He managed to get out above the yelling. Everyone immediately took their seats. "Honestly! You all were worried about me being too young to rule, when I'm the only one, along with Eldrid, who hasn't completely blown up into squabbles! I have some information that might help us along the way to making a decision."  
  
Everyone stared at him with emotions ranging from silent rage to wonder on their faces.  
  
"The night of the coronation, Apaik made a very forward pass at me. I refused. As I walked away, she just stood there fuming. I did not know him very well, but I am thinking that when angered, Apaik was not a rational sylph. Am I correct in my assumption?" There were nods from everyone. "Now, if we can all stop arguing for one second we can figure this situation out." And he fell silent again.  
  
"Well, from what I knew of Apaik, she was quick to anger, and not always all the way there and gathered, like most sylphs. He also wasn't stupid, you must remember. She would plan a rather personal attack on Liamh if what he says is true," Tyrist explained.  
  
"Then he would have tried to get to the root of the problem. She would hit a nerve, deeply," Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third thought out loud. "So how would he get to you?"  
  
A sudden realization dawned on Liamh. "Lord Voldemort, that's how."  
  
* * *  
  
"Here you are, you should be quite comfortable here," Mr. Weasley said, showing Mr. and Mrs. Granger into a bedroom. The Ministry had provided the extra bed, seeing as how Charlie was also staying with the Weasleys and they didn't have enough beds.  
  
"Thank you for everything, Mr. Weasley," Mrs. Granger said with a grateful smile.  
  
* * *  
  
"I can't believe what happened to you, Hermione! Do you know who sent the letter?" Ron asked, as he sat down on his bed. Hermione followed.  
  
"No, but it was just so strange, I mean, it was written as though something was holding them back from writing it. Something not entirely outside their body," Hermione whispered. They had somehow managed to ditch Ginny because Ron wanted to talk to her alone.  
  
"I still just can't believe that a Death Eater attacked you! You're-"  
  
"A Muggle-born and a friend of Harry's. It makes perfect sense," Only Hermione could be this gathered after what had happened to her. But her composure wouldn't last for long, and she burst into tears.  
  
"Oh, come here," Ron started. "You need a hug." He brought her into his arms, and rocked her back and forth, like you would do with a little child. "It'll be okay."  
  
* * *  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Hermione's staying at my place now. A Death Eater attacked her family.  
  
Here's what happened. Someone wrote Hermione a letter to warn her, but didn't sign it. That same night, someone went to kill her family. Hermione had had her wand ready, and cast a disarming charm at the same time the Death Eater did. Somehow, he summoned his wand and bound her and her family to chairs with ropes. Then, he took Hermione into questioning, and when she wouldn't tell anything, he put her under the Cruciatus curse. My dad was on call that night because the Death Eater had apparated right into her neighbors' backyard, and he found her. The Death Eater apparated, but dad brought them all back here until school starts so we could protect them.  
  
Do you have any idea who wrote the letter? Hermione doesn't have a clue, the writing was so hard to read, but I thought that you might know . . .  
  
Ron  
  
* * *  
  
"Thanks, Ron, for everything," Hermione gratefully smiled at him. "I promise next time not to have a nervous breakdown."  
  
"It's okay, you've been through a lot. Come here," He smiled as they hugged goodnight, and he kissed her hair.  
  
* * *  
  
"Minerva, we have done everything we can conceive as possible for the school. There have been new nasty little spells put up as barriers, and all the old ones have been redone," Professor Snape said reassuringly to Professor McGonagall. "If Dumbledore thinks we are ready for new students, then I think we are."  
  
"I have a bad feeling about this. There are all those murders that have been going on lately. And you, Professor Snape, should have more drawbacks than me," Professor McGonagall looked down her nose at him. "They are always your Slytherin girls."  
  
"I have full confidence in Dumbledore. I have to. He's the only one that trusts me."  
  
* * *  
  
Dear Albus Dumbledore,  
  
This is Harry. I feel strange, writing you this letter, I've never written to you before. But I must get to the point.  
  
A sylph has gone missing. Their name is Apaik, and, from what I know, Apaik has a grudge against me because I refused something . . . I don't think I need to go into the personal details. I am going to need some information from your spy about new recruits in Voldemort's inner circle. At the moment, I'm waiting to introduce the idea of coming to assist you and the rest of the wizards against the Dark Lord Voldemort. I need to keep in correspondence with you on these points. I need to know everything if the sylphs are ever to come up with an alliance with the Free World.  
  
There are bits of this mystery that you may not know yet, and there's a lot that has been kept from me because of my age. I know this, and I must beg you, as a Monarch of the Underworld, to assist me and think of me as your equal. As you would a foreign Minister, or something like that.  
  
Keep in contact with me,  
  
Harry Potter  
  
* * *  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Something odd has come up. Pansy Parkinson was killed.  
  
It was strange when Millicent Bullstrode was murdered, but Pansy just makes it too weird. I can't write a very long letter this time, mum's yelling at me to go clean my room.  
  
Sorry about the length of this letter,  
  
Ron  
  
* * *  
  
Soon, the weather let up enough so the snow could take a chance to melt, and Liamh was starting to get excited.  
  
Rearing its not-so-ugly head was the prospect of his first fighting lesson. He sat, cross-legged, on the floor of the living room of his suite, running his fingers along the blade of the sword Albus Dumbledore had passed on to him. He wondered about the cryptic inscription it had emblazoned on the hilt.  
  
This sword is the sword that the greatest ruler of sylphs will use. Guard it well, all who come by it, you hold a race's future in your hands.  
  
He was starting to wonder if it wasn't just some trick to make people think they were great when they wielded the sword, that they were the priviledged ones to use it, or if it really was a prophecy. If this sword was truly waiting for the greatest sylvan Monarch to heft it and use it in battle, he had better keep it safe. There was no telling what the consequences would be if he lost it, or broke it, or any other such foolish thing. A shudder went over him. Suddenly, he had the strangest urge to shove it down his throat. The thought was chilling, but also strangely appealing.  
  
He put it back in his trunk, not wanting to do anything foolish.  
  
* * *  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
Her name was Ophelia. Ophelia. From Hamlet, she went crazy and drowned in a pond. Why do you ask?  
  
I have some of my own questions. Are you okay? Is everyone okay? Ron made it sound as if it were, but you'd know better than he would. And, do you have any idea who sent the letter? I think I know who did, but don't try to get it out of me. You aren't supposed to know yet.  
  
I know you and Ron are trying to figure something out. I just know it. But I have another thing to ask you about.  
  
A sylph went missing from our world. Their name is Apaik. If you see another sylph walking around, I need you to write me, and tell me where and when they were seen. Can you do that? Perhaps not. Well, Apaik had brown hair, purple eyes, was pretty tall, and a thin face.  
  
Getting to your other question, yes, we do use glamour here. Were you just curious, or was there another reason? If there was, figure out when the right time to tell me would be. I want to know.  
  
Your friend,  
  
Harry  
  
* * *  
  
Liamh carefully put the warrior suit on and hefted the sword out from where he had buried it in his trunk. He decided that he'd carry it, not knowing the right way to tie it onto his waist. With that, he rushed to the empty room they'd be meeting in, in hopes of a good first lesson.  
  
When he got there, he was rather surprised to see Nikiatom's grandsylph patiently waiting for him. He bowed to the other, and walked into the room.  
  
"Hello, Liamh," the much older sylph smiled, showing no signs of age whatsoever.  
  
"Hello, Kirkaria," Liamh said.  
  
"You won't be needing your sword today; we're going to be working on conditioning your body to take a blow and to strike one. First, we must stretch out,"  
  
And so the stretching commensed. It took them about fifteen minutes to go through the first set of stretches, and they were nothing but leg warm-ups. Next came the torso, mostly stretching of the hips and abdomin. Then they stretched the neck and back, and finally everything, including their fingers, had been pushed to its limits. Liamh was panting heavily as he desperately tried to slow his breathing. Kirkaria held out a small glass bottle of water, and Liamh drank gratefully.  
  
"In order to do the kind of fighting that the sylphs created, you have to be in the top of your possible condition. You have to be flexible and have enough endurance to fight almost non-stop for days on end. Soon, all of these things will come in handy for our people," Kirkaria explained.  
  
"So that means that we may be going off to war?" Liamh asked through his heavy breathing.  
  
"It is as of yet indefinite."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Break is over; get on your feet," Kirkaria suddenly barked.  
  
Liamh rushed to his feet and finally started his training, but it was odd. Most of the stuff she made him do was very strange. Some of the exercises he recognized, some he didn't. But, soon, the day was over, and the training left Liamh to collapse onto his bed and fall into a deep sleep until noon the next day.  
  
* * *  
  
The letter came just as the Weasleys and Grangers were sitting down to eat. Mr. Weasley grabbed at it, but Mrs. Weasley was faster. With an excited smile, she looked up at her family.  
  
"The school is reopening! You have a ticket for Platform Nine and Three Quarters on January 22nd! Isn't that lovely?"  
  
Soon dinner was forgotten as they all went into their mode of celebration. The twins set off several of Fillibuster's fireworks and jumped into the air in a mad adrenaline rush. Ginny went to go turn on the radio, and soon a small party was going on at the Weasley residence. Ron whooped with joy and looked over at Hermione, who was quietly smiling to herself in the corner. Immediately a look of concern crossed his features, and he went over to her.  
  
"What is it, Hermione?" he inquired as he sat down next to her, sliding an arm tentatively around her shoulders.  
  
"The Death Eater attacked Hogwarts. He could get in," she stared off into space, still smiling lightly to herself.  
  
"Hermione, Peter was an animagus, of course he could get in. But they've probably put up some ward against that now. They're more careful," Ron said, and Hermione widened her smile.  
  
"So we're really going back?"  
  
"Yes. We're really going back."  
  
Had the Weasley twins not noticed them at this point, this mushy little scene would have probably progressed into them going off their break, but both ended up red-faced and harrassed.  
  
Within less than a month, all of their stuff was packed, the extra homework done, and they were off on their way to King's Cross. Hermione looked back at the Burrow, wondering how her parents would fare, but drove the thought away from her mind at once. She was going back to Hogwarts, everything was all right again. Hopefully.  
  
A/N- I got this out sooner than I thought I would. I'm on a roll! Yes, I know, it's another filler, there won't be many of those left. I think this fic is actually almost halfway through, so I'm doing really good on it. For the next chapter; should I skip forward in time, or should I keep going with it the way it is? Because either way I could write it, but it would be easier to skip forward in time, I can tell you that much. But if I don't, I can guarantee that it will start getting eerie, and we all like that! ; ) Thank you so much to my wonderful reviewers, I'll get back to you here:  
  
Ashurahime: I loved reading your review! I feel so honored that you love this fic so much. Your review was one of the best written reviews that I've ever had. I look forward to seeing your response for this chapter.  
  
Usa Yui and Usa Kou: I thought kawaii meant cute, but I'll take your word on that, I wasn't very good at Japanese! (  
  
ast-lumos-draco: Thank you.  
  
Gilaine: I don't know if you'll like me in the near future, I have certain plans for Lyra that may not be to your liking. Sorry! (  
  
Phoenix: I always look forward to seeing your now familiar review! You certainly are a wonderful person.  
  
Silver Lightning: Thank you so much for your review! I thought that the Sylvan Underworld should be beautiful, but creepy at the same time, did I accomplish that?  
  
Clepsydra-Delphinus: Well, what can I say? You are such a wonderful reviewer (I look forward to your review every time I post now), and it always brightens my day. I thought that the sylphs finding Harry attractive would be interesting. You will find out more about that later. ( No, there isn't some special kind of sylvan beauty. Harry (or should I say Liamh?) will get some very . . . interesting reactions when he sees his old friends again. (I actually like your idea of Ron . . . I will say no more, but you've inspired me to be veeeeeeeery evil indeed.)  
  
Gia: Apaik is NOT a nice character, and yes, VERY forward. You'll hear more about her in later chapters. I have some definite plans for him . . . 


	10. Chapter 10: Preparations

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story does include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
  
Chapter 10: Preparations  
  
It was summer. By all standards, it was summer, and the sylphs were celebrating. They had enough air to go around, they had plentiful food, and they were carefree for the time being. Liamh smiled as he went out into the square, watching as they performed for each other. Everyone was wearing colorful clothing, no one had to wear shoes, and their life was good.  
  
He had found out from Nikiatom that, much like the fairies in Free World folklore, sylphs are festive all summer. Most everyone joined in, unless for reasons unknown they didn't want to, and smiled and carried on as if they were partaking in a giant Renaissance festival. There was dancing, eating, laughter, performance art, fine art hanging on the walls, theatre productions performed every day, and basic eccentricity that followed you wherever you might go. Liamh had just been walking through the crowded street when someone suddenly grabbed him and he was whirled around.  
  
"Liamh, I-I, well, will, will you come with me?" Nikiatom stuttered. Liamh had never seen him like this. She had big, bright eyes just like an older sylph sibling who was about to do something to their little sylph-brother.  
  
"What are you going to do?" Liamh asked, suspicious.  
  
"You need to do something, now could you please come with me?" Nikiatom murmured.  
  
"Okay, I wasn't really doing anything right now anyway."  
  
Nikiatom led him through the busy streets, weaving through the crowds of people and up to a small stand toward the open grass by the edge of the buildings. There, a solitary sylph stood, letting the summer air breeze through its long black hair. This person looked as if they could have been Spanish, had this been the Free world. The sylph's loose pants billowed in the wind, and it immediately looked over to see them approaching. Behind the sylph, their destination had turned out to be . . . a little tent made completely out of different colored chenile scarves. Standing before this billowing wall was a very high chair.  
  
"Hello," the crafts sylph greeted them, glancing in their direction. "I'm in the middle of another client at the moment, so if you could please wait out here, I'll only be a minute."  
  
Liamh, who was absolutely bewildered as to what this sylph could possibly be busy with, stopped dead and looked over to Nikiatom. Who was blushing madly. Liamh shook his head. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. So he decided to wait for the apparantly very busy person to get done with whatever was so time consuming. The proverbial lightbulb seemed to go off, and the sylph stormed back into the little screened in area, shouting something about having the right design.  
  
Nikiatom looked down at the ground, kicking at it with his bare foot. Liamh finally made the connection. Nikiatom had a crush on the sylph who they had just spoken to. He looked incredulously at the older sylph. The older sylph who now looked like a stricken teenage girl who just met her favorite actor. Before he could say anything, however, his eyes were drawn to something else. Danu was coming by. Only he was not alone, oh no, she had Eamonn with him (if you don't remember, this was the salesperson that helped Liamh to buy clothes).  
  
Eamonn was looking much less wintry toward Danu than she had last winter when Liamh had first met him. Much to the surprise of many (Nikiatom among them), she had his arms around Danu, a smile spreading her face. Liamh waved at them, and Danu finally spotted them from his conversation with Eamonn.  
  
"Hello, Liamh, Nikiatom." Danu said joyfully.  
  
"Danu! You and Eamonn are on . . . speaking terms. Last I knew, you couldn't stand to be in the same room." Liamh exclaimed.  
  
"Yes, how did this lovely turn of events come about?" Nikiatom asked quietly.  
  
"Well, I think it helped that I proposed," Danu was splitting her face he was so happy.  
  
"And that you had the nerve to. I was starting to get just a bit impatient," Eamonn joked from his position on Danu's hip.  
  
"I hadn't expected to see you today Nikiatom. What brings you here?" Danu asked. Eamonn just slapped his side.  
  
"Don't you know where we are, you twat? Why does anyone come here?" she rolled his eyes at the apparent stupidity of the partner she had chosen for life.  
  
"Oh right. That would be some good business. Sorry I asked. We'll just leave you two be," Danu winked at Liamh and Nikiatom, whose blush deepened. Liamh waved good-bye to them, and looked over at the person who had brought him here.  
  
"So, what are we doing? You have to tell me eventually."  
  
"It's a surprise."  
  
Liamh had the feeling that he'd never understand his guide. He shook his head, and watched as the flap of scarves on the tent was pushed aside. Lyra came running out of it, giggling madly all the way. She looked happier than he had at the coronation. Behind her came the sylph who was working with him and Kitri, both talking animatedly. Suddenly, Lyra noticed him and clapped her hands.  
  
"Liamh! Liamh, Liamh, Liamh!" He ran into Liamh's legs and hugged him wildly, smiling and babbling some strange sort of thing that was unintelligible.  
  
"Hello, Lyra! What are you doing here?" Liamh asked, bending at the middle and speaking to the child as though they were the same height.  
  
"Bearer? Can I tell him?" Lyra screamed back at Kitri, who seemed to be talking to the older sylph.  
  
"Well, I'll just have to ask Nikiatom that, won't I? Excuse me," Kitri politely said to the sylph. He went over and spoke with Nikiatom in a quiet whisper, then shook her head at Lyra. Lyra pouted.  
  
"I guess I can't. But I really want to! I really do!" Lyra whined adorably. Kitri, sensing that something would be given away, rushed up to the sylph child.  
  
"We have really got to be going, we are meeting someone for lunch." She smiled at Liamh, and winked, then spoke to his child. "Say goodbye to Liamh, dear."  
  
"Goodbye, Liamh," Lyra said, smiling impishly.  
  
"Bye, Lyra, bye, Kitri," Liamh answered, and watched as the two walked off, Lyra skipping beside her Bearer.  
  
"Liamh, I presume?" A sweet voice behind him made Liamh turn and nod to the craftsylph.  
  
"I'm Cifar. If you'd please take a seat on the high chair, we can get this done quickly."  
  
Liamh did as he was told, edging around nervously on his seat. Cifar was turning his face this way and that, obviously making small comments to herself as he did so.  
  
"You may be wondering what all this is about. Well, all sylphs are born incomplete. That is what I do. I make them complete. I mark them, figuring what kind of magic they have, then finding the one place where their skin doesn't really seem to fit to their bodies. When I've figured it out, I think of what colors would be the best suited for them, and paint on the rest of their powers. Until a sylph is brought to me, they can not perform to their fullest abilities. And even after, they have to find someone who will love them, and then and only then are they complete. But with this sort of magical tatoo, they are as complete as they could be as an individual. That is why you are here now, you were never marked." Cifar said all this while studying and turning his head this way and that. "I can just paint it on your face right now, the only reason that I have a tent is so that I can paint it on in some sylphs' places, like on their back and other places. Luckily, yours is on your face, so I can paint it on out here."  
  
Liamh nodded, and tried to hold still as the paint brush was brought closer to his face, and green paint was dabbed onto his nose. Soon, his nose was covered in the green paint, and at its bridge Cifar narrowed it and swept an elegantly thin line onto his forehead, going toward his scar. Gently, he felt his face being lifted, and green was drawn between his nostrils to curl under his lips. Then, the painter dipped the brush in the green paint again and swept it up and out to his left eye.  
  
"Close your eye," Cifar commanded, and Liamh complied, and felt the brush go over his eye. Then it traveled back and out the right side and down to the left side of his jaw. A little tweaking with this layer was done; Cifar picked up a much smaller instrument, this one pointed, but soft on the end, and dipped it into a gold paint. After blowing on the paint on his face, the gold was brought down on the green and spidered out to form some sort of lining on the tatoo of sorts. Next, the second end was brought down into black, and some more detail was drawn, then scarlet and more tweaking, then a white, and one solitary dot was made. It was done. It was over. Cifar admired his work, and stepped away so he could hand Liamh a mirror.  
  
He took it, trembling, shaking as he wondered what it could possibly be. What was it, which was the thing that would complete him as a separate item from everyone else? He lifted the mirror, and gasped.  
  
It was a phoenix.  
  
A beautiful, green, scarlet, gold, and black phoenix was what was covering his face. Its head was facing his scar, the white dot its eye. One wing came up to cover his eye, the other went down to trace his jaw. The body was on his nose, and narrowed at its bridge. The tail was a line that came down between his nostrils and curled to the left under his lips. It was beautiful.  
  
"Strange."  
  
Liamh looked up from the mirror.  
  
"The colors that suit you are so dark, while the phoenix is such a light creature."  
  
"What do they mean?" Liamh asked, going back to look at the colors.  
  
"Scarlet means pain, gold means the stalked, black, of course, means death, and green means sadness. While the phoenix means to come back," Cifar said as he was putting back the paint set.  
  
Liamh was uncomfortable as Nikiatom walked with him back to the palace. People were staring at him slightly, then they turned away as they figured he had just had the tatoo put on. He squirmed under their gaze, and turned to Nikiatom.  
  
"Will they always see the phoenix?" He asked, uncertainly.  
  
"Sylphs will, but in the Free world no one would be able to see it, they'd just see flawless skin. You can always try to block it from sight if you want, but it looks good on you." Nikiatom blushed slightly and looked away from Liamh, who smiled to himself.  
  
* * *  
  
That night, Liamh went into bed, considering what Nikiatom had told and showed him that day. After the tatooing, he had said that she thought that Liamh was ready to fly for the first time tomorrow. So here he found himself, turning to the flying chapter of his one and only book. He ran a hand through his hair as he flipped it open, past the sections on transfiguration and other things. Finally, it fell open to the first page of the chapter he was looking for.  
  
Chapter 9: Flying  
  
Flying is a talent that is highly favored but not common among the magical beings. Sylphs are among the only human creatures that posses it, the only other being wizards and witches with broomsticks.  
  
The chapter went on to describe in detail the mechanics that you had to know before you could even get your wings out.  
  
Apparantly, sylphs' wings were in their backs, and the first time they were ever let out would be extremely painful and bloody. After that, before a sylph could ever fly, they had to practice until no blood was spilled and the pain was eased away. If they started to fly too late, their wings would burst forth unbidden from their hide and hurt the sylph more than help it. There were a lot of things for him to remember, such as the spell sung to unleash them, then the spell sung backwards to put them back, and just how exactly it was supposed to feel.  
  
He wasn't worried about the pain, he'd been through so much of that already, he'd been through the Cruciatus Curse, so he shouldn't be worried about his back splitting, but he didn't want to bleed to death, so he wanted Nikiatom to be there. He'd do it first thing tomorrow morning.  
  
* * *  
  
Veronica Synell, a Slytherin seventh year, was worried.  
  
There was only one girl left in her dorm, beside herself, and she had no idea when another of the sporadic and terrible attacks would take place. She worried her bottom lip down to the bone. It was no small joke that all the Slytherins were related. That's what most purebloods were. Oh, there was the occasional second wife that happened to be half-blood, but they were never talked about. It was wrong. They were supposed to be completely pure, and the records of families and events dated all the way back to 1400 (before then, they hadn't had spells to proof a building against fire.) All this special care was to be taken to ensure that nothing impure entered their families. And her mother was already dead.  
  
This, in itself, was nothing important to her. Her mother had been shrewd and vulgar, and was no great loss to the world. She would have liked it if her father had kept the woman in a tower like she was a lovely damsel in distress. That is, if she would have let him. She had only married him for his money, and found him to be annoying and idiotic. She had never even gotten to know Veronica, her own daughter. In fact, she had only had a daughter because her husband had made her. "For the good of the family," he'd said. Now she was dead. But that wasn't what bothered her.  
  
Her mother had always been a collector of fine antique jewelry. After they had found the body, they had found that her room was ransacked, and her expensive pearls were ripped and all over the floor. Literally. The diamonds were torn in half by whatever it was that killed her.  
  
And she had left some jewelry for Veronica.  
  
* * *  
  
It was a crisp morning. The crispness in the air made you know that autumn was on the way, but wasn't there yet. Liamh could see the little puffs of air that shooted from his mouth as he grabbed his sweater to wear in the castle, and went over to Nikiatom's chambers. His bare feet didn't want to be on the floor, and he ended up pumping from one foot to the next as he waited for the sylph to answer him. There were graceful shuffling noises from inside the door, and Liamh smiled as Nikiatom answered, bleary-eyed but silent. They had already talked about this before, and Nikiatom stepped out of the door, still saying nothing but tugging her sylvan bathrobe around his body pointedly.  
  
"Tired?" Liamh asked briskly.  
  
"I shouldn't be. You'd told me earlier that we were going to do this today. It just didn't register." Nikiatom murmured.  
  
They made the rest of the way in silence, curving their way up winding stairways, making their paths through the twisted labyrinth that was the sylvan castle. Finally, they reached the top.  
  
Liamh had never been here before during the day. Perhaps now wasn't the best time, it being grey and overcast, but still, the sight of the sylvan city was breath taking. It was one of those places that seemed to melt together, not to have everything the same, but instead, rather, to have the differences be so strange that it seemed to be one large building. It was also a place that never lacked in beauty, with the airy homes and buildings and the stonework that delicately laced its way in and out of the otherwise Tudor style places. It was a myriad of life, and deeply compelling. On a sunny day, you would see the beautiful people that populated this world.  
  
"I'm sure that by now you know the drill?" Nikiatom asked of him gently.  
  
"Yes, I'm to take my shirt off and try to get my wings out, with that one spell."  
  
"Do you know the spell?"  
  
"I don't really know how to pronounce it," Liamh admitted, blushing slightly.  
  
"I'll demonstrate."  
  
Nikiatom quickly took off her shirt and started massaging his temples. Then she got up on a rather convienient ledge and seemed to prepare himself for what was to come. From here came more massaging of the temples. Liamh watched all this carefully, taking note of everything. Then, she spoke.  
  
"Uruk nialai wishyne krumle ara TIGRELLES!" And the spell was said.  
  
Liamh watched in horror as rips started to come open in Nikiatom's back, spreading rapidly like someone were tearing cloth. There was no blood whatsoever. Instead, what horrified him the most was that he could see the wings rising from within his - friend's? - back. As they came out, they spread, little bits of extra feather and string-like tendons coming off. Nikiatom stretched his wings, then beat them silently and rose a few feet off the ground. They spread golden, like the absent sun against the sky. Nikiatom landed again and muttered the spell backwards, put her shirt on, and gestured for Liamh to say the spell as well.  
  
Liamh sucked in his breath. This was it. He tried to think of all that he had read and studied in preparation for today. He supposed that, since his wings wouldn't come out the first time, he should stay away from ledges. Liamh stripped himself of his shirt; then delicately set it away on the far side of the roof. He tried to remember exactly how Nikiatom had said the spell, and imitated her movements of preparation. Finally, with a clear head, Liamh spoke:  
  
"Uruk nialai wishyne krumle ara TIGRELLES!" He enunciated, and immediately, his back erupted in flames.  
  
He crumbled to the ground, body convulsing in the pain that coursed its way through his veins. His blood was liquid fire, the vessels ice. Slowly and meticulously, his back was tearing itself apart, ripping the flesh as the wings forced their way out, and he knelt in pain, holding his arms close to his body. Then came the wings, bits of feather lodging themselves, trying to spread the fledgling wings, but finding it impossible. He felt gentle hands resting on his back, and through the blood pounding in his ears he could almost hear Nikiatom muttering soothing nothings to him. He looked over to the older sylph, and was terrified to see a worried look residing there. Then, it doubled, as the wings were flexing inside him in contorted pain. He screamed, thinking that it was okay to do so at this point. With that, he collapsed unconscious in the pool of his own blood that was spilt in the sylph tradition of the first flight.  
  
* * *  
  
Liamh awoke, eyes blurry for the first time in ages. His head spun, and he could vaguely hear voices surrounding him.  
  
"His back's too small."  
  
"Well, we should have suspected something like this to happen, he's half human. We should have thought about shortcomings."  
  
A third voice joined them.  
  
"Between the teaching and the training, there wasn't time to think of what he wouldn't be able to do."  
  
"Will you stop being so sarcastic for once in your life Amadeus?"  
  
Amadeus was sticking up for him?  
  
"He should have come to us."  
  
That's more like it.  
  
"He's awake." A fourth voice. It was quiet, a bit too quiet, but it sounded full of shame, as if this person had done something wrong.  
  
There was a silence. Liamh heard footsteps, and four heads were directly above his. He started, then tried to back away from them. He just wanted to rest in peace. A dull aching and throbbing went through his back, as if he were still losing blood.  
  
"Are you feeling okay?" Eldrid asked him, concerned.  
  
"I . . . guess," he managed to croak.  
  
"You're lucky you aren't bleeding anymore. You lost quite a lot of blood, you did." Eldrid continued. He looked thoughtfully at the part-sylph, and Liamh felt a small intrusion in his mind. "We should probably leave you, now that we know you are quite alive. Come, Danu, Nikiatom, and Amadeus. We have other work to attend to."  
  
As the others were exiting, Nikiatom held back slightly, until a very annoyed Amadeus pulled her out of the room.  
  
* * *  
  
Later that afternoon, Liamh finally felt good enough to sit up in bed, and he called his book to him. He was saddened to find that, as he opened it, there was nothing left to read. He'd finished it, and far too soon.  
  
He felt like he was waiting for something, but he didn't know what. So he sat, expectant, not really thinking, when the door opened and Eldrid walked into the room.  
  
"That's a very fine phoenix you bear, Liamh." He said in a way of greeting.  
  
"I didn't really choose it."  
  
"Do you know what the phoenix stands for among our people?" Eldrid asked calmly.  
  
"Well, all I know is that the phoenix is a symbol of resurrection, but that is fairly normal." Liamh leaned back against the headboard, groaning as it touched the more sensitive parts of his back.  
  
"There are three Orders of sylphs. They are called the Order of the Unicorn, the Order of the Dragon, and the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
"There are different personalities and roles that go with being any one of these special Orders. The sylphs of the Order of the Dragon are fiery people, they tend to be passionate with their opinions and personal life, highly strung, grab attention, demanding, and, overall, impulsive to the point where they know exactly what they have to do as the moment comes. They therefore don't really need to plan ahead, but sometimes their impulses can get them into trouble.  
  
"The Order of the Unicorn contains sylphs that are meeker, a little bit more graceful than the dominant Dragon sylphs, they are very smart but their knowledge is trained with books, not impulse. They are magnificent when they want to be, unnoticed when they choose to be, and loyal to a fault. The Order of the Unicorn is a very noble Order to be a member of, but they tend not to have strong control over their surroundings and what they want done.  
  
"The last Order, the Order of the Phoenix, is the balance of the two. As a phoenix is reborn from the ashes of the fire that consumed it, they carry the qualities of a dragon. As a phoenix is also mournfully elegant and sorrowfully beautiful, it carries the qualities of a unicorn. The Order of the Phoenix is the perfect combination of unicorn and dragon. They are fiery and opinionated, but also open-minded and free enough to listen to other people and value their opinion. They are the ideal leader."  
  
There was a slight pause as Eldrid let this sink in.  
  
"The last time we had a member of the Order of the Phoenix as a monarch was around five hundred years ago, when we were forced into hiding.  
  
"We have only had two monarchs since that time; the one who brought us into hiding died shortly after of unknown causes. They were both of the Order of the Unicorn. I can already tell that you are the next great monarch; not only have you already had the life experience to have you impressioned upon at your early age, but you have the courage to keep taking on responsibilities. I will admit, you really aren't sure how to control the other Order members, but you'll learn. Everyone gets off to a rocky start at some time or another." Eldrid smiled a sad little smile.  
  
They sat companionably for a while, until Eldrid got up to leave, claiming that Liamh would get the hang of flying. Liamh smiled slightly to himself; he really had a life complicated by far too many things.  
  
* * *  
  
Professor Dumbledore was a gracious host for what had been once in a long time. Professor McGonagall hadn't had tea with him since well before Voldemort rose. That was partially her job as Head of House. You'd be surprised how idiotic some younger Gryffindors could be! Just last week, she had dealt with a girl who had enlarged . . . that's off subject, let's just say that it wasn't very pretty.  
  
They used to be able to get together once a month to discuss the rest of the teachers. However, once Voldemort rose, their tea sessions had been replaced with staff meetings, and now was the first time in a long time that they had found the time to sit together. Dumbledore was glad for this; he was starting to lose his edge as to what went on in the school. Most of the information came from the Heads of Houses; Professor Minerva McGonagall just happened to be one of his closest friends.  
  
"What kind of tea would you like?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"Oh, whatever you're having is fine." She waved him off, eager to get past the formalities.  
  
"Okay, right then." He swiftly sent the teapot brewing, and pulled out two cups just as the water was boiling. He added the leaves, and handed a cup and saucer to McGonagall.  
  
"Thank you, Albus," she said briskly. "Now, what is our topic for the day?" She delightedly had gotten it out in the open, and folded her hands in her lap, leaning forward.  
  
"Ah yes, that. I have a proposition to make, and I need advice. I think that we should get a group together to defend Hogwarts. We know from Severus that the Death Eaters have long since been preparing a seige of this castle, and it should not go unprotected." Dumbledore took a sip of his tea before continuing. "But I also think that we should get an army together to fight the Death Eaters. Both would be extremely dangerous, but both would have their rewards."  
  
"Wouldn't it be expensive? Getting all the fighting materials made and everything? We must be reasonable. If You-Know-Who was destroyed, the Death Eaters would fall apart. Can't we just get a spy to do it?"  
  
"Minerva, the Death Eaters are far too comitted at this point. They think their cause is worth carrying over after Voldemort has passed. He is, after all, in his sixties; he can't be around for that much longer if he is to rely on the Dark Arts. They have to be stopped now, and not just some of them, all of them."  
  
"What does Arthur Weasley say about all of this?" Minerva asked, still not sure as to what her opinion on the matter was.  
  
"He says that I should think over the details, because our numbers are fading fast. The killers of the Slytherin girls have taken to wiping out entire households. Voldemort is planning to take over the world; he has started to gather a following in Spain and Portugal, and from there he plans to take over France, then some of his growing troops would travel to Africa, while the other half would go further into Europe and Asia. This is getting big. If he wants to put his all in the attack against Hogwarts, he'll call in the international forces. We need an army here."  
  
"There must be some way to combine the two ideas."  
  
"Well," Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, contemplating his tea leaves, "I had thought about teaching the seventh and sixth year students how to fight, but that might be a risky business. We'd need more backing than students who aren't even allowed to Apparate."  
  
* * *  
  
Two days had passed since the first flying attempt was taken, and Liamh was bored. He had been issued bed rest and hadn't been allowed out of his rooms to do anything. Nikiatom had become something of a mother hen; he seemed to think that it was his fault that Liamh had almost died. At the moment, he was currently flitting about outside the doorway, trying to decide whether ten times a day for a visit was too much. Liamh had written to Ron and Hermione, and Ron had just sort of ignored him because he had no idea what he was talking about. Hermione, on the other hand, actually did go to check if anything about this was written in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. It wasn't. She panicked. It was funny. He laughed.  
  
His back was still bleeding slightly, and his sheets had turned a lovely crimson color and smelled of dried blood and crusty, old mothballs. He really couldn't care less. He had missed one Order meeting, and he didn't know whether or not it was rescheduled. If it wasn't, Eldrid would have taken over.  
  
Liamh was pulled from his thoughts by Nikiatom coming in. Again.  
  
"Do you need anything?" The sylph asked frantically.  
  
"No, not really. It's just, oh, I don't know," Liamh couldn't decide whether to confide in his tentative friend or not. Nikiatom looked at him shyly for a moment.  
  
"What is it?" The sylph said quietly, an expression of openness on his face. She slowly slithered into a seat next to the expansive bed that held Liamh.  
  
"I got this letter from Dumbledore, you know, my old Headmaster," Nikiatom nodded faintly, "and he is trying to set up an army, but there aren't enough wizards, and he wants our help with military tactics to try and bring down the dark lord that has risen up there. I want to do this, get an alliance with the wizards. But I know that Amadeus and some other Order members will have something to say against this. I have no idea what to do, I think that the future of our people would really be helped if we were to do this, but then again, we really don't have that many people here that can do it. I mean, our population isn't even over four hundred, and it would really hurt us to lose lives. If we were to do this, that is."  
  
Nikiatom sat in silence, something fleeting running through her eyes. Was that sadness? It was. How could it be? Did Nikiatom know more than everyone thought?  
  
"Do it. Voldemort must be brought down." Nikiatom hissed through his teeth, and stood abruptly, not giving Liamh a chance to think over the words. Before leaving, she fluffed Liamh's pillow once.  
  
Liamh sat back, laying down to rest for the day, his back aching at the stress it took to move. He grimaced, wondering how foolish he was to think that he could lead an entire race in a battle against Lord Voldemort if he couldn't even fly yet. He was pretty sure that his people would follow him; at the ball the only problem that they had had was his age, but by now they had gotten over that. Why was it that he felt so small? It wasn't his height, but a lot of the time he felt thin. Slight, like he was still too young to be taken seriously. Perhaps he was, but that couldn't be what kept him from being the ruler he was supposed to be. He wasn't told things, but maybe that was how the sylphs always acted; maybe, if you were supposed to know something, you stumbled onto it yourself, you saw it in a vision, or a dream, or it just came to you. He had found out most of the stuff he knew now on his own. He decided not to worry too much for right now, and closed his eyes, body ready to sleep.  
  
His eyes snapped open. How did Nikiatom know the name of the Free World's dark lord?  
  
* * *  
  
As a captive in his own bedchambers, Liamh had as much time as needed to ponder his latest realization. He didn't want to confront his timid confidante right away, that could be disastrous. Neither did he want to wait for the answer to come to him. So he had to tread carefully around the subject, trying not to break the ice. Nikiatom was just as worried as she usually was, fussing over his pillows and how cold his drink was and how often he was hungry. The older sylph had been glad to take on the job of rubbing a healing ointment over Liamh's back, and slowly, the injury was being healed.  
  
Nikiatom said that it was coming along nicely, healing itself, and it wouldn't bleed so much the next time they tried to fly. This had taken Liamh by surprise; he hadn't known there would be a next time. After a day of observation, he could tell that Nikiatom had been told to keep him trying to fly, but the sylph had other ideas.  
  
As it turned out, the next time came quickly, with a little less blood, and Liamh didn't pass out, since he knew what was coming. However, there was still enough blood to wash clothes with, and it took a week afterwards to heal from that. He had written to both Ron and Hermione, and they had started a frantic letter writing to keep Liamh occupied. He was playing a small game with them; they didn't know he was the monarch. When he saw them again, he was planning on giving them a huge surprise. He couldn't wait to see the looks upon their faces as he calmly told them he was the monarch of the sylphs.  
  
Nikiatom was grudgingly making him fly more and more, with fewer days to rest in between, until finally, there was only the amount of blood that a hangnail would produce. With Liamh being able to walk, he slowly made it so he could go to Order meetings regularly and before long, the idea of going to the Free World to assist the wizards and witches was out in the open. After several days of deep thought and careful persuasion on Liamh's part, the Order decided that they were ready to take action in the affairs above.  
  
* * *  
  
Liamh stole away from his chambers early one morning, wearing his flying clothes and eagerly anticipating what he was planning. Nikiatom had given the way for him, and he was smiling broadly from the delight that he was about to embark upon.  
  
As with the first horrid time that he had ever taken out his wings, the morning was crisp. It was almost scary how much they were the same, almost as if something bad should have been happening, but Liamh knew that wasn't the case. It seemed right, this morning. It seemed right that something wonderful would be the mirror of something terrible, and unexpected. Today would be different; he was determined to make it so. With no further ado, he took off the warmer cloak that covered his riding shirt.  
  
He uttered the strange spell, a ghost of something forming on his lips. It was repeated so much that he needn't remember the words, they were engrained upon memory. He felt the large ebony wings fall out of his back, stretching on their way, sending everything above his waist to relief. A strange thought overcame his senses; I'm free this way. There was no blood to speak of. What a strange feeling, to not bleed. He had come to expect the blood, but now he felt nothing, no trace of pain. There was only the feeling of rightness.  
  
He went over to the edge of the roof. It seemed to be a long way down, but he knew that he would instantly start flying as soon as he was over the edge of the ledge. He took a deep breath, hoping that his idea was correct, and he jumped.  
  
At first he was free falling, then his wings spread, and they became sails, holding him in the air. He flapped them experimentally, and they propelled him forward. He was somewhat surprised at the speed of his flight; he had never really thought that his wings would be able to go as fast as a Nimbus Two Thousand without trying. He soared leisurely over the forest constructed for the sylphs. An overwhelming feeling of joy overtook him, and he took off at the speed of a Firebolt, wind whipping his long hair back away from his face as he smiled, happy to be flying again.  
  
In all the commotion of his coronation and lessons and everything, the one thing that had been lacking was flying. He had missed Quidditch, he had missed flying leisurely to clear his head. Sure, he had known that sylphs could fly, but he had never been able to do it before. Now, it was like this part of his life was nearly mirroring the last, both being one and the same, and suddenly, he missed his friends terribly. That is, more so than he usually did.  
  
But soon, he was caught up in the vigorous feeling of flying. He flew all day, observing the land that he was to call his and his peoples'. He soared for the whole day through, over hills, dales, forests, and waters. When he finally landed at dusk, it was with a slightly triumphant and very happy grin.  
  
* * *  
  
"Will the meeting please come to order? Amadeus, please find a seat, we have only small things to figure out now." Liamh was standing, trying to make it so that the (much taller) sylphs could see him as they found their seats.  
  
"What such things are there left to do? You have apparantly been planning this for a while, and you have filled us in on the basics. There will only be a few of us going, the only thing we'll do is come up with a plan of action, then, if need be, call in all those willing to help with the cause. You've got it all covered. Why must we be here at all?" Amadeus sputtered angrily.  
  
"Well, for one thing, how many of you speak and understand English perfectly? How many of you have ever had to breathe in air so rich that as you re-enter this world, you choke from the sheer breathlessness that goes on here? How many of you have ever even been outside of this one little section of world, here and above? For those of you who haven't, these are all hard tasks that are to be handled with grace and precision. It is harder than you may think; harder than you can comprehend. Really Amadeus, I thought you had more intelligence than to think that I, at my age, could possibly pull this off. I am smarter than I used to be; don't treat me as a child, for that which I am is not my age to you. Who volunteers to be first?" Liamh blankly stated, words rolling off his tongue with irony and bitterness.  
  
"Oh, and Nikiatom, do come out of the shadows, you're starting to bother me." Liamh didn't even glance in his direction and stifled a yawn with his hand. "If you are to come uninvited to a meeting, then show yourself with pride."  
  
Nikiatom slipped from the shadows, eyes downcast, mumbling curses under her breath.  
  
"I will go, if only to show support for you." Lemagne stuttered after the awkward silence that followed Nikiatom's meek entrance.  
  
Eldrid looked up from where he was looking down at his notes. "So will I; you must have someone for . . . guidance." Several of the sylphs nodded their consent.  
  
Liamh muttered to himself, then looked around at them. "Well, that's two, not including myself. And, Amadeus, I want you to come too."  
  
There was yet another awkward pause as everyone who had foreseen this turn of events delighted in the looks on the others' face.  
  
"E-excuse me?" Lemagne asked tentatively.  
  
"Yes, there must be someone there to challenge me and my ideas." Liamh waved off all questions. "Now, all we need are a few guides. I've already recruited Danu, as I know that he's been there before. We should only need one more person, so that the balance will be three to three. Nikiatom, do you have anything to say?"  
  
"Um, well, can I talk to you later?" Nikiatom stuttered. Liamh gave the barest of nods.  
  
"If so, can we move on to other matters?" Everyone nodded, as Tyrist motioned that he had something to say.  
  
"If we are to help in a war, we will need someone to get the sylphs into shape for an army. We do not have many people, but our tactics and technique is strong, and unpredictable. We could be of use, not to mention with our healing powers. But we are rusty. Most sylphs know how to use their skills in battle, but have never been called upon to do so. I vote that as you and the other . . . will there be royalty at the meeting?" Tyrist looked to Eldrid, then back to Liamh.  
  
"Yes, there will be the Dwarf lord and lady, the Minister of Magic (a wizard), the High Chieftan of the Merpeople, the Veela Countess, a representative for the giants, and the Queen of the Fairies. Continue." Liamh nodded to his fellow Order member.  
  
"Right. Anyway, my point is that while there will be others there, we still need to be able to fight adequately. I suggest that we start a training regime. That cuts us down to around 350 because the children shouldn't have to fight." Tyrist looked as if she were searching for something.  
  
"Then what shall we do with them if we do go to war? We can bring them with us, I suppose, but we'll need to use all the invisibility cloaks we can." Lemagne joined in, helping the serious sylph.  
  
"Right, well, every family has one, and mine has about ten, so we can give you some." Kiara Nikomik Shane the Third boasted.  
  
"Oh, shut up!" Tyrist bursted.  
  
"I was just adding to the conversation!"  
  
"Maybe you shouldn't be here! These matters are too great for you to understand!"  
  
Liamh massaged his temples as the ongoing war waged in front of his eyes. This was not really what he had expected. Honestly, they called him immature!  
  
"Will you all be quiet!" He screamed in English.  
  
That did it.  
  
"We still have more to work out. While around the other meeting members, no one is to speak in sylvish. If you have something to say, and don't know how, transfer your thought to me and I'll say it for you. No one is to belittle any of the other leaders, it is the first time that they will have encountered us since around zero BC, we want to make a good impression if we are ever to gain an alliance with them. We will answer all other questions on the way, meeting adjourned."  
  
* * *  
  
"Nikiatom? You wanted to talk to me?" Liamh approached him carefully, as if he were a scared cat.  
  
"Yes." She nodded. There was a silence, while Liamh patiently waited for Nikiatom to talk with him.  
  
"I know that you know that I've been to the Free World before, but my experience hadn't been good, and I need y-someone - there to sort of . . . I don't know, encourage me." He looked down as her feet scuffed at the ground. A blush rose to his cheeks, and Liamh gently touched Nikiatom's chin and guided her to look at him.  
  
"If you want me to help you through it, all you have to do is ask." He stated, quietly so no one else who may have been approaching could hear. Nikiatom opted to speak through telepathy.  
  
Will you help me when we go to the Free World? I was traumatized and don't know if I can handle it.  
  
Of course I will. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?  
  
* * *  
  
"Oh my god! Ron! Ron! Get out here quickly!" Hermione squealed, clutching the letter from Harry in her hand.  
  
"What is it?" He asked irritably. Draco Malfoy had given him a hard time again that day.  
  
"Harry's coming! Harry's coming! Harry's coming!"  
  
"Wha?"  
  
"Harry's coming! Are you deaf?" Hermione thrust the letter into Ron's hands. He read it quickly, muttering incoherently as he always did when reading quickly. He let out a shriek, and it caught the attention of his roommates.  
  
"Ron, we've been over this, you sound like a girl when you do that." Seamus said grumpily.  
  
"Ron, you've interrupted our very important business." Dean grumbled.  
  
"Yeah, really." Ron rolled his eyes.  
  
"No! It really was important!" defended Seamus.  
  
"Really. We were being very useful." Dean grumbled.  
  
"You were staring into the fire." Neville pointed out.  
  
"Well, um, it could have gotten out of hand." Seamus mumbled.  
  
"Guys, listen to me! Harry's coming back! He's gonna be here!" Hermione explained.  
  
"What! He's coming! Now? Why?" Neville asked.  
  
"He's gotten the other sylphs to agree that they should help us in the war against you-know-who!"  
  
That night, there was a small party in Gryffindor, in which all those old enough to have known the charming Harry Potter well celebrated his re- arrival into their lives.  
  
A/N: Here it is, the painful chapter 10! I was tempted to skip on to chapter 11, but here it is! Ha! It's finally done! After a month's worth of writer's block, here it is, short, but nonetheless DONE! The plot can finally start to come together from here, thank god, but, sadly, there's the sad news that I'm gaining on halfway through with this one.  
  
A/N 2: Is this better than the last version?  
  
To the reviewers:  
  
Angael: From when you wrote the review, I think this wasn't that long to wait!  
  
Usa Yui and Usa Ku: Don't worry, I'm not about to get fed up! I had to suffer through this chapter, so the worst for me is over.  
  
Princess Sparkle: I did my best to keep it as original as possible, and your review told me that I succeeded in that. Your hope is correct, this is all my own writing. Draco is coming up, don't worry! He has an important role to play yet!  
  
Zeynel: Harry will be in the Free World in the next chapter, don't worry! Oh, and your questions will be answered later.  
  
Prophetess of Hearts: I'm wondering when the Order will come around too . . . that's right, I should probably plan that . . .  
  
Clepsydra-Delphinus: You might be sorry to hear this, but I don't know if Harry and Draco are going to get together or not. There's another pairing that I'm really thinking of, but even if I do change the pairing, I'll keep Draco as an important asset to the story. You know how to spell my name? I feel so special and loved! Most people spell it Sakiapa, and that kinda irritates me. I only hope that this chapter lived up to all the others, I really hated writing it.  
  
Phoenix: The next chapter should take less time to get up, I'll be having fun with that one! Hehehehehehe . . .  
  
Asurahime: I don't know what to say! I love reading your reviews! They make me feel important. I'm sorry this took so long, it was a really hard chapter for me to write . . . The next should be amusing and MUCH longer, as well as finished quickly. What did you expect it to be when you first read it? I'm just curious, I might just have to change my summary a bit.  
  
Silver Lightning: I'm glad that it came across the way I wanted it to! I was relieved when I read your review, I didn't have to go back and change a whole bunch of stuff. 


	11. Chapter 11: The Welcoming Ball or Develo...

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story does include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
  
Chapter 11: Developments  
  
They had arrived in darkness, carefully shrouded against the rest of the school. Their hoods were pulled high over their faces and their hair windswept from the journey. They were quietly and securely ushered to their rooms, while the students slept on, oblivious.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione was lost in the whirlwind that was the girls' dorms. She had thought that she could stay in her room and get her excess amount of homework done, but aparantly that wasn't going to happen.  
  
As was typical with fifteen- and sixteen-year-old girls, Parvati and Lavender were frantically going through their wardrobes. They had to figure out just what it was they were going to wear, what make-up would be dabbed on their faces, how their hair would be done, what color scheme they should figure for . . . the list went on forever. It was the night before the day of the ball, and tomorrow would be a Hogsmeade day. Hermione was planning to have her hair done professionally, but that was it. Parvati and Lavender, however, were there to do nothing of the sort. They were so worried that Hermione was about to shriek and pull out all her hair and save a few sickles in doing so. She had no one to really impress tomorrow . . . unless you counted Ron.  
  
At first, she had only accepted Ron's invitation with the whim that no one else would ask her and that it would make Harry happy to see them together, even if they weren't officially "dating." Then, it had turned into something else. Hermione was a brilliant girl, and she realized, soon, that she was only going with him (for the ball didn't require dates) because she missed him, and knew that they had always had a fun time. Whether or not they were arguing. From there, she soon realized that her feelings for him had never diminished. It scared her, but she was happy as well. Ron hadn't moved on either; he hadn't asked anyone else to her knowledge. And when Harry had had to leave, they had talked about everything together.  
  
She watched the desperate girls in her dorm talk about such frivolous things, sighed, and went to talk to Ginny, who wasn't as interested in this ball as she was Harry. Besides, Ginny had the sense to know Hermione didn't want to speak of such things; they irritated her. So, Hermione gathered together her things and went down to the Common Room.  
  
* * *  
  
As Nikiatom was unpacking his things, there was a timid knock on the door. She mumbled to himself, going to the door and opening it before she changed his mind.  
  
There stood a very nervous Harry, holding a strange looking box in his hands. Nikiatom, shocked that the monarch had come to visit her, and stood aside so Harry could walk nervously into the room, tucking one lock of hair behind his elegantly pointed ear. Nikiatom sensed that Harry was having trouble knowing how to say what it was that he was trying to say, and decided to help him.  
  
"There was something you wanted to talk to me about?" She asked timidly, lowering his gaze to the ground.  
  
"Yes, there was." That's where this conversation stopped for about three minutes as Nikiatom stared at Harry, and Harry pondered just why he was so nervous.  
  
"Would you like to sit down?"  
  
Harry smiled nervously at Nikiatom, and sat in the proffered chair. Nikiatom sat down on the bed.  
  
Harry had been summoning up the courage to tell Nikiatom this for the whole journey, and finally had it. "I'm sorry."  
  
There was another awkward pause. "Excuse me?" Nikiatom asked delicately.  
  
"I'm sorry. I was a jerk to you; I had no right to treat you that way at the Order meeting. I'm-I'm just terrified that you might be mad at me . . . I don't know if I could bare that. I also brought you this . . ." Harry indicated the box. "They're a candy here, I thought you might like them."  
  
Harry handed the chocolate frog to his companion. She took it, a silent thank you on his lips. She smiled as he saw the chocolate inside it. "I've missed these. How did you know they are my favorite?"  
  
"I had a sense." Harry smiled at him, and let her muse over the chocolate, not knowing what to expect.  
  
"You know that I've been here before." Nikiatom commented. Harry nodded. "What else do you know?"  
  
"Only that you need a friend, that you need to talk about it. You've kept this information so guarded that none of the other sylphs know about it, and if they do, they don't say anything." Harry pondered the blonde sylph. "That's not an easy feat to accomplish."  
  
Nikiatom offered a small smile. "No, it isn't." He studied the carefully designed box in her hands. "They've changed it since I was here."  
  
Nikiatom's striking purple eyes looked at Harry, scrutinized him. "You look so much like James did." There was a pause, as of contemplation. "You deserve to know."  
  
"Before your father left, I was still a young sylph. Terribly young, but not too immature that I hadn't had my first vision. He was like my mentor, he was really what I wanted to be. He was smart, terribly funny, beautiful . . . amazing.  
  
"He took me in after my parents were killed by a spell He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named was trying to perfect. It was done, the Killing Curse strong enough to kill Immortals. He put me under his wing; he was the one that helped me get through it. From there, our leader, Eldrid at the time, wished upon us that we would not emerge into the Free World until You-Know-Who was gone for good. Your father knew what it was he needed to do, and he was brave in doing so. You know that side of the story.  
  
"My side is, decidedly, different. When I was young, I had had a vision; that of your father. I couldn't get it out of my head, I couldn't figure out what it was. Then, one day, after your father had been gone for seven years, I realized it. I was supposed to be the one to love him. In a fit of bravery, I ran to him, I ran into this Free World, and when I saw him, happy, and with your mother, I knew it was too late. He took me in for the second time, telling me to stay for a while. I stayed for a month; I had really missed him. And the night before I was to leave, I finally had gotten up the courage to tell him of my vision. It was silly; I was only eleven. I thought I was in love, but he told me, quietly, so as not to hurt my feelings, that he was supposed to be with your mother - Lily? - and that I'd find someone later. I've been pining ever since, trying to find a way that I could find love, but my chance has passed."  
  
Nikiatom was trembling, in a way Harry couldn't understand. The sylph had never been this open to him, nor had he ever cried. But now, it appeared as though Nikiatom was about to accomplish both. Harry did the only thing that was instinctive to him, and laid a hand on hers. Nikiatom composed himself, then smiled at Harry.  
  
"Have you been edgy lately?"  
  
It was completely unexpected.  
  
"Yes, and that's partly why I was so strict at the last meeting. The bickering was starting to grate on my nerves. Why do you ask?" Harry answered, trying hard not to sound suspicious of himself.  
  
"I think I might know why." Nikiatom looked for an invitation, supposed one was there, and continued. "Your body is just preparing you for some sort of trauma; it's common among sylphs, though not up here. It's especially common among your age category. You should be fully prepared for whatever comes your way from here on out. I thought you might like to know."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
They sat, once again, in a companionable silence, until Harry got up, said his goodnights, and left Nikiatom's room. He had a big day ahead of him, and it was late.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry hugged his arms to himself as he was walking through the corridors of Hogwarts. It was three in the afternoon, and the students were all at class. Hearing footsteps, Harry quickly turned around to meet Hagrid coming down the hall, holding a dead chicken.  
  
"Hagrid!" Harry shouted.  
  
"'Arry? Is that you?"  
  
"Yeah! It's me!"  
  
Hagrid promptly dropped the dead fowl and ran thundering down the hallway, only to sweep the small (as in petite) sylph into his arms, and above the ground. Harry wrapped his arms around as much of Hagrid as he could, and felt something wet fall through the strands of his hair.  
  
"Oh, Hagrid, you don't have to cry, and besides, now I'm starting to cry." He very nearly sobbed.  
  
"It's jus' not the same without yeh, 'Arry, there jus', there jus', yeh can' jus' leave me like that! It's jus' not the same!" Hagrid let him down after about another five minutes, then Harry pointed out the forgotten chicken, and Hagrid had to leave to go to class, but not without giving Harry another hug.  
  
* * *  
  
Ron waited for Hermione to be done dressing, as he was already decked out in his splendid dress robes, and whistled to himself. He had never been patient, and knocked on their door yet again.  
  
"Hermione? Are you almost done?" He called, exasperated, when the door next to the one he had pounded on opened, revealing her in her gown.  
  
He was speechless. It was a deep red, tight at the top, then flowing toward the bottom. The black that went with it as trim circled her waist, and went down in vertical stripes to her feet. It was nothing short of absolutely fantastic. As she turned for him, he saw the plunging back, also with black trimming, and how her hair was elegantly piled on her head in a shower of curls, and he couldn't figure whether it was considered up or done up. When she turned to face him again, she smiled, and he saw that she was wearing make-up, for once.  
  
"Parvati and Lavender did the make-up." It was as if she could read her mind. "Are you just going to stand there gawking, or are you coming with me to meet Harry again?"  
  
Dumbly, he took her hand. She looked at him strangely and linked arms, muttering about how little he knew of such affairs.  
  
* * *  
  
The students were absolutely silent as Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley introduced the foreign leaders to the student body and everyone gathered. The tension in the room palpable, those being introduced were grumbling at the thought that they weren't being paid any mind, no one really cared about the Queen of the Fairies* if no one could see her. Most were dying to see the sylphs; their beauty said to leave that of the Veela in the dust, and we all know how the boys of the school had reacted to Fleur. Besides, the Veela emperess was bewitching enough to the eye to cause several people to stand in a daze.  
  
Dumbledore rocked on his heels slightly, he was also anticipating the meeting with the sylphs, if not just to figure how the students would react to see them. It proved to be far more amusing than the fact he still never received socks for Christmas.  
  
Professor Snape was getting thoroughly bored. He was getting sick of his students staring at him, pointing, and goggling, just because he hadn't spent the entire day getting his hair greasy over the steaming potions. As far as he thought on the whole sylph idea, he had no intention of waiting on the edge of his seat just to see a race that was supposed to be beautiful. After all, he had seen Potter when he was at school, and had not thought of him as anything that special. Besides, he was far too old to be looking at something in a romantic sense; he wasn't that naive.  
  
Professor McGonagall was also thoroughly bored. She wasn't interested in the sylphs, though she was simply sitting on pins and needles to watch them do their form of magic.  
  
Hermione and Ron waited impatiently as the last groups before the sylphs arrived, were introduced, and went to stand behind the teachers. Any second now, they'd be coming. Any second now . . .  
  
Draco scowled in the shadows. It was all he could do. Inside, his body was trembling, all of his own subconscious thought going into not rudely leaving the ball. The tight knot of pent up energy was all that was keeping the tiny voice in check; all that kept him sane as the two major forces within him waged the inward never-ending war. His father was screaming at him, his mind screaming back in an inevitable impasse.  
  
Harry sucked in his breath, tugging at his clothing. Nikiatom saw that he was nervous and went to stand by him. They smiled anxiously at each other, and Harry reached out to his confidante.  
  
Hey. It was all he could send through thought.  
  
Hey. Nikiatom answered, soothing him. Why are you so nervous?  
  
I can feel his eyes.  
  
Whose?  
  
An old enemy of mine; he is more than he seemed, I have learned, and is struggling even to be here tonight.  
  
What was his name?  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
Oh. With an unspoken agreement, Nikiatom tucked a piece of hair into place in Harry's braid.  
  
Don't be nervous; everyone loves you. Even Amadeus, although she doesn't show it. And besides, if you desire to, you can hide behind that mask of yours.  
  
Harry sighed; he knew Nikiatom was right.  
  
Why are you always so right?  
  
Nikiatom smiled.  
  
* * *  
  
There was a collective gasp from throughout the hall as the sylphs stepped out from the side room. Harry held his head high, gathered the heavy black material that draped around his ankles. He held his head straight, making sure his nose wasn't high.  
  
He tried to step gracefully while the knowledge that he was in front and the most noticeable of his people spun through his mind. There was a rush of emotion and thought; his rigorous training as a sylph had taught him to read the emotions of everyone around him, and sylphs were much better at cooling their emotions than the people of the free world. They had to, in order to keep some secrets to themselves. So here he was, in the free world, with nothing to guard him from the onslaught of emotion and thought that slammed into his senses.  
  
He smiled as he reached Mr. Weasley and the professors. He bowed low in the sylvan way, and felt the sylphs bow behind him. He heard the announcer speak the name Liamh, but he wasn't really listening. He was scared to the very marrow of his bone when he looked into Snape's obsidian eyes.  
  
Looking back to Professor Dumbledore, he saw that the man wanted to speak with him in front of the group. He complied, and signaled that he was listening.  
  
"It is such an honor to have your people here tonight, since it has been ages since any of our kinds have seen you. We wish to welcome you whole- heartedly into this world."  
  
There was mad cheering, especially from the young teens who were already developing indecent thoughts toward one or many of the sylphs. Most had unconsciously made their way to their feet as they saw the magnificent creatures before them.  
  
"Some, of course, not as much as others." Here Harry glanced over to see the dwarf lord scowling in his corner. He distinctly caught the thought pretty little things that don't know anything running through his mind. As he kept watching, he noted that the lord was muttering to himself, and he laughed lightly.  
  
"We would just like to thank you for coming up here. Potter, our contact in the sylph world has had to jump through many hoops to persuade them that it was beneficial to their futures to participate in this endeavor against the Dark side. Your efforts are sincerely gratified, and we will always be in your debt."  
  
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, I would like to say on behalf of my people that we are happy to help-" Amadeus snorted "-and to the dwarf lord that we already have several ideas in mind to help, and are eager to hear those of the other candidates. We assure you that we are not just ornamental people with no idea how to do things."  
  
This actually wasn't totally uncalled for; in the dwarf lord's speech he had implied that he thought the sylphs were good for nothing.  
  
"Thank you, Liamh, and the rest of the sylphs, for being here."  
  
Harry went to find his seat next to the dwarf lord, who sank down into the padding of his chair as the elegant figure sat next to him.  
  
* * *  
  
Ron stared at the sylphs. How could something so close to human seem so much more beautiful? Then he saw the leader.  
  
Dressed all in black, she wore what appeared to be a cross between a dress and a robe. There was a piece of fabric that wound around her neck and came down to be tucked into the chest. The top was fairly tight, but an interlocking woven pattern added texture. Her face was painted in a pattern of black and white, with silver pipes coming out to drop a teardrop.  
  
Hermione noticed that Ron took an interest in the sylvan leader (goggling more like), and elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
"What?" he asked in a whisper.  
  
"Where's Harry?"  
  
That, Ron decided, was a very good question. Suddenly, Professor Dumbledore and the sylphs were talking.  
  
"It is such an honor to have your people here tonight, since it has been ages since any of our kinds have seen you. We wish to welcome you whole- heartedly into this world."  
  
Ron cheered loudly; Hermione silenced him with a glare.  
  
"Some, of course, not as much as others." Suddenly, the leader started to laugh harmonically, and her voice washed over those in the room.  
  
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, I would like to say on behalf of my people that we are happy to help-" one of the sylphs snorted "-and to the dwarf lord that we already have several ideas in mind to help, and are eager to hear those of the other candidates. We assure you that we are not just ornamental people with no idea how to do things."  
  
"Thank you, Liamh, and the rest of the sylphs, for being here." They bowed again, and Ron watched the sylvan leader as she went to sit next to the dwarf lord, who was slowly trying to disappear from sight by way of blending in with his seat.  
  
Dumbledore said a short speech, and the feast was on.  
  
* * *  
  
"I guess I should apologize," Harry said to the dwarf lord. "That was really quite embarrassing, wasn't it?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, um . . ." The dwarf lord looked down at his food, then back up at the sylph. The dwarf lordess sat on the other side, deep in conversation with the Veela countess. She paid them no mind.  
  
"I'm sorry if I made you more uncomfortable than I meant to. I hope we can build an allegiance anyway, and put this behind us, but I just had to get back at you for what you said in your own speech. I know that we didn't show it, but we were all rather hurt."  
  
"You were?" the dwarf lord looked up at the sylvan leader in surprise.  
  
"Well, of course we were. On our first night back, everyone is told that we are just ornamental pretty things, that don't have a mind of our own, and forever our reputation is questioned. I had to do something."  
  
"Oh, I didn't realize-"  
  
"It's no matter anymore. I've forgiven you, and embarrassed you in front of everyone, we are pretty much even. So, what exactly is your plan of action against Volde-do you mind if I say his name?"  
  
The dwarf lord puffed out his chest in pride. "Not at all. I've always wondered why it was that no one ever said it."  
  
"Good. So, what exactly were you thinking for the plan against Voldemort?" Harry leaned into the table, in the guise of spearing a piece of ham, while he was actually contemplating just how much everyone knew about sylphs.  
  
"Well, first of all, I think that we should find out where he is hiding, then storm them with some of my best men-"  
  
"So you are suggesting an outright attack?" The dwarf lord nodded. "On their ground?"  
  
"Right. That way, they won't expect it."  
  
"A daring plan." Liamh looked back down at his food, scrutinizing the dwarf out of the corner of his eye. "But what if we don't know the terrain, and they could be waiting for us exactly where we start from? How exactly would we get away?"  
  
"We'd have to have someone scout the area beforehand."  
  
"Would this be the same person that went out in the first place?"  
  
"Of course, you must always save men for the battlefield in case too many of them die in the fight."  
  
"I see your point. What if the guy doesn't come back?"  
  
"We send another." The dwarf lord, whose name, by the way, was Draelf, looked at Liamh as if he were absolutely dense.  
  
"Who's going to want to go after the first person was already killed, and most especially when they are mutilated. Voldemort, with his sick sense of humor, might even send the body back, and then no one would want to take over."  
  
Draelf looked skyward, trying to work that out.  
  
"It would be by far better to send two people, that way, if one is captured, the other could either come back or rescue, and we'd still have the information. But if the one person is captured, everything is risked."  
  
"Hmm. I like the way you think. So we'd send two people. What else do you see wrong with my plan?"  
  
"I think that you could make it a bit more specific, but it's a rough plan, so we'd need a lot more information about our enemy in order to do it properly."  
  
There was a slight silence as Draelf drank his ale. He looked back at Harry, watching the elegant creature as he ate delicately.  
  
"What was your plan?"  
  
Harry contemplated the question, while chewing his black pudding.  
  
"I haven't really thought about it. I think that I, since I haven't lived here for a year or so, need to be caught up on Voldemort's movements and everything before I can really propose an intelligent plan."  
  
Draelf nodded, and Harry congratulated himself on the new ally.  
  
* * *  
  
Back at the Gryffindor table, Ron and Hermione were craning their heads along with everyone else to see where Harry was, when the feast disappeared, and Dumbledore stood to start the dance. Most everyone got up to dance, and they were left to search on their own, when Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
"What are you on about?"  
  
"Your friend is coming."  
  
Ron turned, and, much to his surprise, saw that the beautiful creature was making her way over to them. He quickly grabbed Hermione and pulled her onto the dance floor, all the while trying not to watch the dark angel as she was making her way over to them, a small smile on her face.  
  
Hermione twisted in his arms, then tried to hide Ron from view, which was not very successful, as he was about a half a foot taller than her, even with her heels on. And still, the leader of the sylphs was coming toward them.  
  
"Well, that was certainly something I never thought I'd see you two do." The sylph spoke to them.  
  
Hermione turned around, looking confused, "Excuse me, but do I know you sir, uh, ma'am, um, sira'm." She quickly bowed and stopped talking.  
  
"Hermione, I'm surprised at you. Hello, Ron, glad to see you're back together."  
  
"Wait a minute," Ron started to mumble, "You know our names . . . you know we used to date . . . you have dark hair . . ."  
  
"Ron, get there FASTER!" Hermione gruffly ordered. "It's Harry."  
  
"No, its not, his name isn't Liamh." Ron was still very confused. Hermione flicked him on the ear.  
  
"You had a lot of fun with that, didn't you Harry?" Hermione said as attacked him and hugged the air out of him.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"Maybe it was a good thing you broke up." Harry said, glancing worriedly at Ron.  
  
"Harry? Harry!" Ron shouted, shoving his date out of the way, and crushing Harry's bones worse than Hagrid had when he saw him yesterday. "You prat! Why didn't you tell us you were the monarch of the sylphs?"  
  
"And miss the look on your faces? Of course I couldn't. Besides, it was a minor detail, I didn't absolutely have to tell you, now did I?" Harry offered them an evil little smirk, and Ron hit him on the shoulder.  
  
They laughed, and while the other two weren't looking, Harry let his eyes wander over to the blonde Slytherin who was still scowling in the shadows.  
  
He was wearing a black robe, but it was neither his normal work robes nor the robes that had made him look like a vicar. He looked like he had just gotten out of the bathroom, with his hair slicked back as it always was and his robes that looked mockingly like a bathrobe. They did nothing for him, and it was hardly a mystery as to why he hadn't worn anything nicer for the occasion. Most of the Slytherins looked like they came from Frumpville, and it seemed as if that was their protest against their own attendence of the ball. None of them looked to be having fun, and Malfoy the least of all. He exuded an elegant combination of irritance, mockery, and anger. His eyes were the bluish-gray of a tempestous sea storm, his brows knitted in a menacing scowl.  
  
Is your old enemy the one you're looking at?  
  
Yes, Nikiatom.  
  
Ooh, just lovely. It came out as sarcastic.  
  
Isn't he just? You can see why I never liked him.  
  
Harry saw Nikiatom smile from across the room, and he turned back to Ron and Hermione.  
  
"How's Malfoy been this year? Is he still the insufferable git as he always was?" he asked, glancing once more at Malfoy.  
  
"Yes, like always." Ron rolled his eyes. Hermione turned to Harry.  
  
"Well, I've noticed that he gets this odd pained look on his face when he starts to insult one of us. It's kinda weird. But enough about him. We won't let him ruin our reunion. Where did the name Liamh come from?" Hermione flippantly bent the conversation to her will.  
  
Harry laughed. "Well, contrary to popular belief, my middle name isn't James. Its Liamh, which is sylvan, so when I'm in the Underworld, that is what they call me."  
  
"Really? I always thought it was James, you know, like I'm Ron Arthur Weasley, and Ginny's Virginia Molly Weasley." Ron looked puzzled for a moment. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.  
  
"By the way, where is Ginny? I haven't seen her at all tonight." Harry scanned the crowd, but didn't see the youngest Weasley.  
  
"Oh, she's off somewhere with Colin." Hermione explained.  
  
"Yeah, Colin." Ron grumbled.  
  
"What is your problem with Colin?" demanded Hermione. Harry only smirked.  
  
"Well, he's . . . he's . . . Colin and . . . I don't think Ginny should be dating him! Boys of that age have only one thing on their minds!" Ron stuttered.  
  
"Ron, remember last year when we dated?" Ron smiled at the memory. "You were that age."  
  
"Well, I was a lot more mature than Colin has ever been." It was just a bit hard for Ron to defend himself when he was blushing furiously. Harry laughed his mellifluous laugh.  
  
His pointed ears picked up on the rustling of Ginny's dress robes, and she kissed Ron on the cheek like only a sister could and said, "Colin bashing again, are we?" She turned to Harry. "Oh, Harry, I didn't recognize you!" She hugged him, and when she pulled away, he caught a glimpse of her necklace.  
  
It is her; she with the hair of flames and the gown of silk; she is the one who holds the power of our people on her shoulders.  
  
As suddenly as it had come, the mysterious voice disappeared, leaving in its wake the young monarch of the sylphs pale and shaking. What did that mean? Surely Ginny wasn't an enemy? Was she? She had always been somewhat prone to unknowingly wreaking dark magic; her first year had been proof of that. She was a strange girl; she stumbled upon trouble like the vinyard- owners on grapes; she never meant to, but it happened. Then again, the same could be said for Harry himself.  
  
"Harry?" Ginny's voice seemed to echo around Harry's ears, plunging him into the present.  
  
"Harry? Are you alright?"  
  
"Yes . . . yes, fine . . ." he muttered vaguely as a strong arm hooked onto his.  
  
"I think you should sit down for a while," a quiet voice whispered in breathy sylvan.  
  
"Thank you, 'Kiatom." He smiled at his friends. "Why don't we all sit down?"  
  
They quickly agreed, giving slight glances Nikiatom's way, and when they were all seated, Harry finally felt slightly better. Once they were re- engaged in conversation, Nikiatom slowly disappeared into the crowd, Harry the only one knowing he had left.  
  
"So, Ginny, that's an interesting necklace, where did you get it?" Harry asked after the exploits of Colin Creevey on the Quidditch team had diminished in conversation.  
  
"Oh, this?" She looked down at the necklace she wore.  
  
It was an interesting necklace, to say the least. Black chains snaked their way around the neck to come together at the meeting of something that looked like a night emerald. It glowed slightly in the evening light, emitting a haunting green tone. From there, the chains fell slightly to show a talon clutching a crystal ball. It was very elegant, but did not go with her dress at all. Or, rather, it was so utterly different that it made it something that it hadn't been meant to be. It gave it more edge, a different side to the frilly pink garment.  
  
"I found it at a shop in Diagon Alley. They had said that they got it off of this guy, and quite frankly, they were glad to be rid of it. I thought that it would be a nice change; normally I don't wear jewellry like this. It doesn't really go with my skin color." Ginny explained.  
  
* * *  
  
Later that night, Harry found himself quietly strolling in the Hogwarts gardens. The ball was still going on, he just didn't feel like dancing anymore. Something had told him to venture out into the night, and he found that usually he had a reason to be somewhere when his conscience told him it was important. Sometimes he needed a mental break from the stress of his life; others he needed some peace and quiet.  
  
The gardens were magnificent; he had no idea why it was that most of the time students stayed away from them. They were peaceful. They were exotic. Even tonight, with the rulers of exotic peoples, the flowers and plants stood away from them in all their splendor. He came to the fountain he had been stuck at in fourth year; the fountain that had kept him from leaving and hearing the shocking truth about Hagrid.  
  
"Did you see it?"  
  
The voice stilled him. He stood stock still, listening intently to the voice purged of all light-heartedness that went with the night.  
  
"What did it look like? Who wore it?"  
  
There was silence in response.  
  
"Well? Answer me, Nikiatom!"  
  
Harry furrowed his brows. What on earth would Amadeus need to speak so urgently to his quiet friend.  
  
"You have no idea, do you. Do you!"  
  
"I-I don't know what it is you m-mean, Amadeus." Nikiatom stuttered slightly.  
  
"You know very well what I mean! You were there, Nikiatom! What was it? What did you see?"  
  
"I saw nothing." Nikiatom whispered.  
  
There was a sudden rattling in the bushes. Amadeus had grabbed Nikiatom at the shoulders.  
  
"You were never a very good liar, you know that, don't you?" Amadeus' voice was soft, calm, but Harry could almost hear the fire crackling in his eyes. "I can hear the lie in your mind, I can feel the deceit in your body, you know more than you say you do, Nikiatom."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"You know a great deal more than 'nothing.'"  
  
The bushes rustled again as Amadeus pushed Nikiatom into them, and the more dominant sylph skulked into the shadows. Nikiatom looked warily about him, then slowly went further into the garden. Harry didn't follow. Something told him not to, and it didn't sound like it came from himself. He shivered, and kept on with his walk, letting his feet decide the way.  
  
It was a night of mystery. First, the strange voice in Harry's mind, screaming to him as he had seen the necklace Ginny bore. Balls were always interesting times; for one night, people felt as though they didn't have to be themselves. For one night, all that was normal in the world was turned upside down. Harry knew that Nikiatom was more than she seemed; he had to be far superior in strength of mind than anyone had expected.  
  
Harry continued his walk, the midnight color of his robes and hair allowing him to walk unnoticed. As per usual with Hogwarts festivities, he caught several teens kissing behind bushes and making the most suggestive of noises; he passed by them, paying them no mind. It was a night of dark treasures; a night of strange alliances. You would think it unlikely that so many people would be having hidden conversations, oblivious to the fact that the sylvan monarch was carefully counting his steps, coming ever closer to the circle of understandable mish mash that would endanger their secrecy. It was in this way that he stumbled upon another whirlwind of conversation; this one not quite as understandable as the last.  
  
"You don't want me as an enemy, but are you sure you want me as a friend?"  
  
"I know very well what I'm doing, don't patronize me in that ever so elegant way of yours."  
  
"It is of my deepest concern that you make sure she is good and dead before that final day is through; it is in your best interests to be loyal, instead of the erratic creature you really are."  
  
"Loyal? This coming from the most traitorous witch known to human kind."  
  
"I am so flattered; really, you needn't be so complementary. I only want to know what it is you are trying to play at. Games are not very well received in any circle of adults. Why didn't you just stay with those children you call your friends? It may have saved me time."  
  
"The 'children' as you so fittingly call them can not get me what I want; from you, I can delve anything."  
  
"So you're dipping your hand in blackmail? My, my, aren't you just the upstart little Slytherin."  
  
"All for you, my elegant wench."  
  
"And what exactly do you know of me that could possibly demonstrate me any harm whatsoever?"  
  
"I know things that would make a grown soldier weep like a lost child. I know things that would silence the ever loose-tongued. I know things that creep slowly up your spine to surprise you at the end of your nervous system. I know things, not just one, but many things. And we like it."  
  
"We?"  
  
"We."  
  
"What is this we you speak of?"  
  
"The only we; the only me. Do you follow my train of thought? For if you don't, I clearly understand your reasoning."  
  
"I know of no other we than my own. Pray tell, you have no idea what it is that my heart desires more than anything; only the mirrors can tell you that."  
  
"What if a mirror did?"  
  
"Then I'd call you insane."  
  
"Insane, am I? You have no idea what insane means to the world; no one does. No one but we. Why is it that everyone is so terrified by insanity? Why don't the insane use it to their advantage?"  
  
"You have my undivided attention."  
  
"Insanity is never really a great burden, it is more of a tool in nature. Why is it that the insane can get what they want?" There was silence for a moment. "Because they are not afraid of showing the world what their mind has told them to believe. Fear is mostly not common in the minds of the insane; it all depends on whether insanity borders off of schizophrenia or if it borders off of maniacal want. The only question there is lays within our reach. Which one are you?"  
  
* * *  
  
Harry hummed a haunting tune to himself as he took off his necklace. Next came his robe-and-dress-like garb, and he folded it over the trunk, quietly leaving it in. As he picked out sufficient sleepwear for the night, the full moon shone brightly on his skin, giving him an eerie pale look. He murmured the words to the song; a nightmarish little ditty that bordered on childish. He turned to the mirror, and saw for the first time that he had forgotten to take off his mask. Slightly disoriented, he unleashed it from his face and left it on his desk. As he walked to the bathroom, he sang, and a second voice joined in. From the reverberations off the walls, and the echo, it was clear that there was only one person there in the bathroom. He was alone.  
  
Wasn't he?  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
A/N: I'm sorry that this is so much later than anticipated, but I was also adding major amounts of editing and revising and all that good stuff onto the last chapter. Which brings me to my second point. If you've read chapter ten before but just went straight to chapter eleven this time, guess what? You have to go back and read it again! I added so many new things that you won't understand the rest of the story if you don't read it.  
  
* I just have to make this point known. Fairies do not exist. They are a scaled down version of the real faery, the Tuatha de Dannan. In the Victorian era, people liked to scale things down so that they were easier to control. Faeries were actually rather like the sylphs in my story, but J.K. Rowling talked about fairies as though they were little Tinkerbells in the Harry Potter books, so I have to use them in this context here. The difference in spelling is the key to it all. You know you've come across the real thing when an author spells it 'faery' or 'faerie' instead of 'fairy.' 


	12. Chapter 12: Of Dreams and Dragontamers

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story does include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
  
  
  
Chapter Twelve: Of Dreams and Dragontamers  
  
Harry sat up in bed, gasping and thrusting the untamed hair from his sweaty face. Oh, what a plague of a dream! He knew whom it was that brought it on. He knew that it was the look Severus Snape had given him last night at the ball. The ball . . . it had been a night of great mixture, some of it not so great, however. What had the professor been thinking as he saw Harry walk toward them? A curse to the unyielding emotions of the mortal! There had been so much confusion that he had not been able to make out who was thinking what. Oh well, he thought to himself, perhaps I should ready myself for the day. Perhaps something will come to me in the shower.  
  
It was morning, and the light from outside shone so brightly that he had to squint. He got his shampoo and soap together, as well as a towel, and walked to the shower. Cedric had once told him that hot water helped to relax him, and helped him think. Harry took this advice seriously, and he couldn't help but wonder whether it was in respect for Cedric or out of guilt for the fact that he hadn't believed Cedric at first. Nevertheless, he just grew more worried as he thought over the dream.  
  
Sylphs were proud of their prophetic nature. The correct sylvan prophets went all the way back to Synelliargh, the very first sylvan leader. It was something that was rarely granted to anyone but a sylph, and no one who was not of magical standards. Not only that, but sylvan memory was nearly perfect. They were famous (among certain circles) for Remembering things that hadn't even happened in their lifetime. This was a somewhat rarer gift. The bearers of this gift were the members of the Order; there was not one sylvan monarch who did not feel the force of someone else's burdens. They had the best memory of all sylphs, and the best Memory.  
  
He supposed that the dream itself wasn't what was really scaring him; it was the fact that he didn't remember it.  
  
* * *  
  
The Great Hall was never very full on Saturday mornings, and that was why Harry (who met up with Ron and Hermione on the way) chose to dine at the usual hour that breakfast is served. They were currently in an argument over whom exactly it was that was the scariest teacher at Hogwarts.  
  
"Oh, honestly Ron! Professor Binns is not that frightening!" Hermione huffed.  
  
"He's a ghost! He scared the crap out of me when I was a first year!"  
  
"Yes, but you're also terrified of small, itty bitty spiders." Harry looked at him plaintively.  
  
"Really, does he still scare you?" Hermione queried. This was a possible embarrassment for Ron. As well as a good reason to turn the trademarked Weasley shade of vermillion.  
  
"Yes." He mumbled.  
  
Harry and Hermione laughed themselves into peals of tears.  
  
"What's he going to do? Bore you to death?" Hermione giggled.  
  
"Uh, er, well, when I was little, the ghoul in the attic would come after me while I was sleeping." Ron tried to defend himself.  
  
"Ron, the ghoul in your attic was so pathetic that he used to sit around all day trying to peal the paint from the walls with his fingernails." Harry 'helpfully' pointed out.  
  
"That only made him scarier! He was trying to open up a secret doorway into the twins' and my room so that they could attack me from the air!"  
  
"Oh, come off it, you know that he never got very far because his fingernails weren't solid enough to actually touch the boards much less peal them." Hermione argued.  
  
"How would you like it if you were sitting on your bed, looking up at the ceiling, and this hand just kept dipping into your ceiling?"  
  
"You're pathetic."  
  
"Well, who do you think is the scariest teacher?" Ron asked, on a roll now.  
  
"Professor Snape." Harry and Hermione said at the same time.  
  
There was silence from Ron.  
  
"You're creepy, but right." He sighed in defeat.  
  
There was a sudden squeal as all three heads turned to the door. There, in the most misshapen clothes Harry had ever seen him wear, was Dobby the House-Elf. The strangely garbed elf launched himself like a torpedo toward the now monarch and sobbed into his tunic.  
  
"Dobby thought Mister Harry Potter sir was not coming back! Mister Harry Potter was too great, too proud, too noble to want to come back and see poor poor Dobby! But he has! Mister Harry Potter has come back to see Dobby! Dobby is so happy, he could cry! He is crying! Oh, Mister Harry Potter, you're back!" Dobby shrieked loudly as he blew his nose on the orange and purple plaid vest he was wearing.  
  
"How have you been, Dobby?" Harry asked, smiling at the tiny Elf's enthusiasm.  
  
"Oh, Dobby has been working really hard in order to help Master Dumbledore, sir. Mr. Potter's Wheezy has been giving Dobby news of Mr. Potter. But sir," Dobby said, eyes growing wide in confusion, "why didn't you ever tell Dobby that you were his King?"  
  
"What do you mean, Dobby?" Hermione asked, suspicious of Elf rights again.  
  
"Well, Mr. Harry Potter is an Elve, and Elves rule over the Elfs." Dobby touched the tip of Harry's very pointed ear in astonishment. "Dobby and the House Elfs all thought that the Elves had gone into the ground, never to be seen again. What is Mister Harry Potter doing here, Dobby asks?"  
  
"The Elves have come to help the wizards in the war against Voldemort." Harry explained.  
  
"Oh, so you came with the others."  
  
"What others?" Ron asked.  
  
"Mister Wheezy, the others that came last night. Dobby has seen them. They dress really fancy and talk to each others only. There are some that are really small and fat, and others that are beautiful, but never as beautiful as the high Elves. They weren't as nice to Dobby as Mister Potter is. Mister Potter is too kind, too good, too noble, too-"  
  
"Dobby, I'm not as good as you think I am."  
  
"Mister Harry Potter is also modest!"  
  
Hermione and Ron were smiling in amusement as Dobby said goodbye to Harry, hugged him, and went back to the kitchens.  
  
"Ron, when is your father getting here? As Minister of Magic he's supposed to come to this meeting." Harry asked, turning to his friends.  
  
"Oh, they had this huge Death Eater raid! They caught about ten in the same house. Someone tipped the ministry off that there was going to be a meeting to pass information within their circle, and the Aurors caught them all. He had to oversee their trial yesterday, and so he'll be coming sometime today." Ron explained.  
  
"Really? Did your dad say who the Death Eaters were?" Harry asked.  
  
"No, and that's the weird thing. He said that it was 'confidential information' that he couldn't tell the public about. Normally he would come right out and tell everyone, or at least everyone in the family who was caught so he could get feedback on them."  
  
"That's odd. Do you have any ideas whatsoever?" Hermione asked.  
  
"No, he wouldn't say anything in the letter."  
  
"What about Charlie?"  
  
"I don't know." Ron sighed.  
  
There was a slight pause. "I am getting the feeling that there's something I have not been told yet." Harry said, looking from one of his friends to the other.  
  
"Oh, that's right! I had completely forgotten that we didn't tell him yet!" Hermione exclaimed.  
  
"Oh, yeah! He was travelling when we found out, and so we couldn't send a letter to him!" Ron looked at Harry, eyes wide and mouth agape.  
  
"What recent development have I missed?" Harry's inquiry was becoming ever the more urgent.  
  
"Charlie, my brother Charlie, while he was in Romania, was approached by the Grey Wizards." Ron explained. "They wanted him to train to be one of them, because at a dragon camp that he had held to teach little witches and wizards about dragons, one of the Grey Witches had seen him and asked after him. When they found his magical record, they decided that they would like him in their clan, and so they came to him and asked him if he would join them. He said yes, but didn't tell Mum and Dad. Two days ago he told them, and dad got so mad at him that he won't even speak with him. Mum doesn't really care, and I don't know what's gotten into Dad, but it's not good."  
  
"Mrs. Weasley wrote to Ron after his Dad had and said that he wouldn't even let Charlie into the house, and burned all letters of apology. This is really weird. I've never seen Mr. Weasley act this way before." Hermione continued where Ron had left off.  
  
"Really?"  
  
After they were done debating this matter, they sat at the Gryffindor table, discussing miscellaneous matters, Harry getting caught up in all that had happened while he was gone and they asked him everything about the sylvan underworld.  
  
* * *  
  
Eventually, Harry, Ron and Hermione made it outside in the cold fall weather, to wander peacefully around the lake. Harry listened to Ron and Hermione argue about most everything, and they watched him as he walked, their eyes fascinated that he was so different. It was nice to be back together, just that, comfortable, as if most things hadn't changed. Soon, they fell to silence, listening to the cold breeze on the grass.  
  
The edge of the Forbidden Forest loomed ever nearer, the trees calling to Harry as he tried to ignore them. All time seemed to stop; Ron and Hermione were looking at him strangely, but he didn't notice. His eyes flashed purple, his ears alerted themselves to the sounds of this natural land. And he was gone.  
  
Ron and Hermione could not keep up with him, his speed and agility unnatural to the human wizard and witch. They had not had long practice with running through the trees; they had never had to before. And now their otherworldly friend had taken off like a madman. What could they possibly do other than follow him?  
  
And still he plunged into the depths of the forest. There was little light, and what small ration was given them was made musty by the trees and the smell of old death. He ran and ran, the voices of the forest laughing at him, their mystery surging him on. There was no sound to be heard from the feet of the leader of the sylphs, but all around them the trees rustled, the underbrush was disturbed, and the deadness of the old and partially angry forest was not lost.  
  
And as suddenly as he had started, he stopped.  
  
Ron and Hermione finally caught up to him, but it was not their friend that they found.  
  
There was a person so intimate with the forest that one could almost not tell him apart from the branches of the ages old watchmen and women of the wood. He was so concealed that it was hard to tell whether he was shadow or flame, water or acid, and everything stilled with his ceased energy. Eyes closed in concentration, hands flitting to hang limply by his side, the child of light stood, all things poised to hear his first words on the breath of a wind, whither they came.  
  
"The trees are speaking to one another."  
  
The voice was not his own.  
  
* * *  
  
Voldemort stood at the high end of the tower in his citadel; where is their eye? The riddle plauged him, it tormented him. He had no psychic connection with Harry Potter, despite what the other could get through him. He knew nothing of his actions, or even where he was at the moment, and even if he had been able to somehow reach through to the sylph, his mind was so closely guarded that no one would ever get in. Oh, he had no idea of how he was supposed to go about bringing the child ruler to the ground, and, by all means, how to get him six feet under it. There was definitely something that was not to be expected here. There were definitely no words to be used to bring him to his knees. He was far too valiant and loved for that.  
  
And that was his problem. There were so many people to help the boy in his quest to rid the world of Voldemort and smear the blood of his followers across the wall that it was so very nearly impossible to do any harm to him without actually having to gather up the energy to do it himself. Oh, what he wouldn't do for a little tiny bit of empathy from anyone with half a mind! Of course, his Death Eaters could never understand it; they were far too scared of him to make worthy servants. There was only one in their number that carried the dignity and the courage to think of Lord Voldemort as, if possible, more than a snake and more than a figure of sheer evil. And that, the old and power-hungry man had to believe, was at least something.  
  
Voldemort picked idly at his nails, wondering where the dirt had come from. It had been so long since he'd ventured from these halls; it was almost an alien sight to him. Where could he have acquired the dirt as an ingrown nail polish? He surely hadn't done anything with the stuff since that night in the graveyard over a year ago. There were some whispers that he grew lazy, but they were quickly magnified into the pleading and screams of those tortured. It was enough fun for him to wait it out in his dark castle, watching on his scale model of the earth what his distruction had caused.  
  
Pandemonium was rampant in South America; the muggles were finding it hard to run. There were no Death Eaters in either Australia or Africa; it was much too elementary to take down for his liking. Asia was to be slaughtered from within, for it was where his citadel was. After all, it would be foolish to begin a war in the jungle. And that was why he had built his citadel in the middle of the jungles. Anyone would be foolish to even try to wage open war when they could never know the terrain beneath their feet. When his ranks were strong enough, he would descend upon the Asians by air, killing many innocents was just one of his dark incentives. North America would be hard to take out; especially the United States. They were far too arrogant for their own good, let alone his good. Europe would eventually crumble to his power, and with it, he would have a basis for building an army of Death Eaters so strong they would have made Rome crumble had both powers been crossing the same span of years. He already had most of England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland in the palm of his hand. The only ministry to fight him had been led by Arthur Weasley. What a pity it was that they didn't have England crumpled. Surely he would cave soon. There was gossip among the Death Eaters that he was acting more irrational than was usual. His strong emotional defenses were starting to crumble again; it wouldn't be long before . . .  
  
"My Lord," a voice interrupted his musings.  
  
"Yes, what is it, Grima?" Voldemort asked as he turned to Wormtail.  
  
"I have a present for you my lord. I think you're going to like it." This was strange. Wormtail was acting completely out of character. Was he really that excited?  
  
"Well, bring it in then."  
  
Voldemort, slightly interested, turned away from his musings and into the present. He waited a short while, and soon the doors were thrown open. A trio of Death Eaters walked in, and he noticed that they were only his most trusted. They slowly disintegrated to the side of the steepled hall, and he found what had to be the most beautiful creature he had ever seen gazing at him from behind its cloak.  
  
"Hello, Tom."  
  
* * *  
  
It had been a long while since Harry had run off into the forest, and just stopped, and quite frankly, Ron and Hermione were just starting to get a little bit edgy. The only thing he had said was that the trees were talking to one another, and when he had spoken his strange voice had taken on a different tone. Almost as though . . . it wasn't his voice.  
  
They stood waiting, and the sun seemed to have passed by the sky, but when Harry turned to them, the sun seemed to come back from its long wander. His eyes had gone back to green, and he smiled at them.  
  
"Ron, we should go meet your father. He's here, by the lake."  
  
Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, and followed their friend back into the sunlight. And, as sure as it was afternoon, there stood Arthur Weasley. His red hair glinted in the sunlight, and there was a smile upon his face as he held a short conversation with the house elf that had taken his bags. He looked their way, and came walking briskly to meet his son and Hermione.  
  
"Hello, Ron."  
  
"Hi, dad." They shook hands, a far more masculine and adult thing to do than hug.  
  
Hermione smiled and took Mr. Weasley into a hug, knowing that it wasn't as embarrassing if she was the one who instigated it. He hugged her back, then finally noticed the black-haired angel standing in the shadows.  
  
"Ron, who's your new friend, and what is her name?" He asked, brows drawn together in confusion.  
  
"That's funny, Mr. Weasley, I thought that you already knew who I am." Harry said, laughter all through his voice.  
  
Mr. Weasley looked taken aback for a moment, taking in the decorated blue leggings and navy tunic of the person, then looking to the bare feet and decorative fringe and slight flair at the ankle. The figure before him had long ebony hair, mostly hanging down, except for the top half of her head, which was pulled back to twine into the headdress. The figure smiled, striking emerald eyes twinkling out at him. It was then that he noticed the scar.  
  
"Oh my god! Harry! It's you!" He laughed at his foolish mistake, blushing slightly as he realized that he really wanted to hug this person.  
  
"Yes Mr. Weasley, it is me. I don't think I'll tire of this game easily. Everyone so far has not recognized me. Ron's reaction to me was quite amusing, and I must say that for once not one person gawkes at me for who I am, but rather for who I am not." Harry smiled, his bright eyes flashing purple for a millisecond.  
  
"I had almost forgotten the implications that go with being a sylph. For some reason, I had pictured you exactly the same as you had been before you left." Mr. Weasley apologized, not taking his eyes off the figure before him.  
  
"We don't really mind. Even when we were here in this world before we lived in secrecy, and the wizards and witches didn't bother to learn of our ways, so our culture is very misunderstood. We are used to it."  
  
"So, I have quite a bit of time to spare, would you mind explaining it to me?" Mr. Weasley said, glancing from Ron, Hermione and Harry to Hogwarts.  
  
"Not at all."  
  
They spent all of that afternoon discussing what had happened while Harry was gone, and all that Harry had learned on his journeys. The sun grew weary of his high position in the sky, and was soon to be replaced by the moon. As they were heading in to dinner, Harry was stopped by Lemagne, who pulled him aside and spoke in rapid sylvan with him.  
  
"You must come with me. The other Order members are getting a little angry and confused, particularly Amadeus, and I need your help in calming them."  
  
"What seems to have triggered this?"  
  
"Amadeus was talking with a man, I can't recall his name right off the bat, but I think it was Severus Snape, and when the man mentioned war, he realized that if our people are involved at all, it just might be the end of our race."  
  
"Oh, no! I knew that something like this would happen! Where are they?"  
  
"They are in our corridor, I think we should hurry, they may be demanding to go home."  
  
Harry turned to the two Weasley men and Hermione. "There has been a small crisis while I was away that I have now to deal with, if you will excuse me."  
  
They nodded dumbly, having never heard the flowing language of the sylphs before and turned to go back into the hall.  
  
Harry sped down the corridors after Lemagne, praying that it was not out of control yet, and when they finally reached the Order members, it was a scene to remember.  
  
Amadeus stood in the middle of the sylphs, bellowing something or another, while Eldrid stood with them, trying to call it to order, and Triskele was shouting angrily back at Amadeus that he had no right to say whatever it was that he was saying because no plans had been finalized yet. Nikiatom stood out of the way and in the shadows, listening intently to them argue.  
  
"Will everybody please stop shouting and calm down!" Harry yelled into the angry mob.  
  
There was silence in the corridor.  
  
"Nikiatom, would you mind explaining to me the different sides of the argument?"  
  
"Of course not, Liamh." It took him a moment to compose herself, and when he spoke it was in a low, raspy voice. "Amadeus came back shouting about how you were crazy to get us involved in such an endeavor, and that we should just go back home. That got us all out of our rooms. When Triskele confronted her calmly, he just started shouting even more about how we were all blind to what you were doing to us. They eventually got into a bellowing contest that eventually got so bad that Lemagne had to go and find you."  
  
After Nikiatom had shrunk back into her corner, Harry looked at them all.  
  
"Did I ever say we were going to get involved in a war? Did I ever say that it was my aim to bring our entire race to ruin so we could march into battle with the other people that are here? Our plans have not been finalized, and I would never send our people into something that they would not come back from. In order for us to be able to work together, you have to trust me." There was a pain in the young sylph's voice that most had not heard there before. It dismayed them, and made them ashamed of themselves for their quarrel.  
  
"What is it you would have me do? Would you rather I die so that someone else can take the position? Is that what you want? Somehow, I don't think so. I have not read as much of that through your minds and actions. We are all in this together; what we decide is right for our populations is what we are all going to do, but not before we look at all sides. War is a terrible thing; it kills allys just as quickly as it kills enemies. You know that you would be careful in the situation I am in, why don't you think I would have the common sense to be just as careful if not more?"  
  
The sylphs looked at each other. It was a rare thing when they fought, and usually it was brought on by two Dragons. Most of the sylphs were looking meekly at their young leader, but there was a tension in the air. Something was going to happen. Something big. The silence hung among them, as would a wraith, feeding off their guilt. The raw emotions that had been brought forth from the argument were as traceable as fevered flesh on a heat detector.  
  
Harry smiled at them slightly, his eyes losing focus a bit, and when they rolled back in his head, the whisper came from his mouth as the voice of a dead wind.  
  
"They're coming for us."  
  
It was Nikiatom who caught him as he fell to the floor.  
  
* * *  
  
When Harry woke up the next day, his head throbbed and it hurt him to move too quickly. It felt as though someone had taken a bat to his head, and his voice strained with the effort to speak sylvan. The bed he lay in was not a comfort, for it was not his own, and it felt as though it knew someone else was supposed to be sleeping in it. The daylight streamed in through the window; a cold autumn morning greeted him. The wind was cold and cruel, but for some reason whoever it was that slept in this room kept the window open. Harry groaned and tried to pull the covers over his face, curling into a little ball in the midst of the creamy covers. His senses told him that someone had entered the room. He had no urge to seem awake, well- rested, or cheerful this morning, so he groaned and rolled over under the covers.  
  
"Your morning grace astounds me," came the sarcastic reply to the uneasy lump in the bed.  
  
"Nikiatom?"  
  
"Yes, Nikiatom."  
  
"You're different this morning." Harry groaned, shifting the covers slightly to uncover his forehead smeared with black hair.  
  
"Of course I'm different. I'm always different when looking after the sick; or, rather, confused. You were not a pretty picture last night, and you're even less in beauty this morning. I have to get you up; the meeting still won't start for several hours, and you'll need all that time to ready yourself." Nikiatom was moving around the room as he spoke, Harry could sense it. What she was doing was rather fuzzy, and through the pounding headache roaring at his temples, Harry found it hard to remember anything.  
  
"What happened last night?" He asked.  
  
"You were taken by something, but whether it was force or willingness, I do not know." Nikiatom explained, and Harry felt his weight on the bed again.  
  
"What do you mean, 'you don't know?'" Harry asked, uncovering his eyes for the other.  
  
"I mean exactly what I say; I do not know." Harry focused on Nikiatom as he saw her stirring something with a pestel. "Eat this. It is a fine breakfast for the plagued. It will help you to get up."  
  
"Thank you." Harry said as he took it from Nikiatom. He tasted it, and it tasted of Bavarian cream and donuts. A typical, surprising sylvan medicene.  
  
Nikiatom got up and went to his section of the rooms. What was being done in there, he could not tell, but it sounded as though the older sylph was cooking. The morning was far too light to be considered legal. The overcast skies outside belied the cheeriness of the southern wind. At least it was warm. Though, perhaps Harry would not have preferred it in that way. Perhaps he wanted it to be cold. Nikiatom came back into the room, carrying a chelace of the sylvan milk.  
  
"I see you're looking slightly more awake." She commented, sitting once again on the bed.  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"That is well, for you have to be up very soon. Since you are in my rooms, I will fetch you the clothes you wish to wear so you won't have to move." He stood, and, turning to look back at Harry, left.  
  
When Harry was done getting dressed and Nikiatom was ready for the day as well, they went out to meet the other sylphs so they could file to the meeting together. It was an unspoken law that they wouldn't speak at this particular parley; they needed to know what the other races would figure for first. It was not of their design to create an army of sylvan warriors, nor did they want to sit passively throughout the entire process. Today, they would gather information. Tomorrow, they would start. Tomorrow, they could plan. Tomorrow, they would save the people of this world. But for today, they would listen, and they would learn.  
  
So they set out to find the conference room, and passed a hurrying Professor McGonagal on their way. She took no notice of them as she blustered off to find the rulers and representatives who didn't know their way. They met no one else as they wandered the dank corridors, making their way ever toward the great library that Hogwarts contained. The halls were dark in these hours of the morning, the lanterns lit to make the visitor feel as though the place was something more than what it really was.  
  
When they found the library, they walked determinedly back to the deserted row of books on banishing spells and the history thereof, and when they found it, they searched the titles. They looked to the middle row, and, their keen eyes seeing the small hollow book that didn't have a title that was legible, they hastily pushed it in while Nikiatom kept the prying eyes of Madame Pince away with an unsaid spell. There they found a long, twisting staircase that was to lead them up to the conference room. They started their ascent, all the while thinking idly to themselves about the craftsmanship of the place and what would have been done differently had they been the ones to build this haven. Their thoughts were mingling because they were so common to one another that by the time they reached the top of the stairs, they had had quite enough of each other for one morning. Such a pity we'll have to be in the same room together after this, Nikiatom, Harry jested, we've already invaded each other enough. Harry smiled at Nikiatom, who gave a small halfsmile back. The other sylphs laughed in their minds, the joke not private. When the end to the cursed stairs drew near, they walked in through a rather chipped and plain wooden door to the brightest room they had been in, other, of course, than their own rooms.  
  
The office where the meeting was to be held was richly furnished, with red, green, yellow and blue prints on the walls. The printwork detailed the ancient story of Belerine and Utumbo, the two tragic lovers. Harry remembered reading their story when he was younger, and how it had moved him. It told of the French lord Belerine, who, while on a safari to Africa, met the black maiden Utumbo, and how they fell in love only to be ripped apart by prejudice and fate. Poor Utumbo was sold by a jealous advisor of Belerine and forced into slavery in the House of the Dying Star, or so it was called after their story was found and published. There was far more to it than that, but Harry was distracted at the moment. He saw, much to his amusement, a round table, beset with chairs that were of the same rich cherry color as the table. They didn't look remotely comfortable, but at least there was a fading purple cushion to make it a bit more welcoming to anyone of human stature. They varied in size, one large enough to fit a giant, one small enough to suit the fairy queen (it was seated on the table, rather than at it.) The sylphs knew where they were meant to sit, and quietly found their seats.  
  
They were not the first ones to enter the conference room, not by a long shot. The wizards were there, but none of the grey ones. Somehow, they had not been invited to this gathering. The veela countess sat in her chair, looking gracefully bored. The dwarf lord and lordess were having a rather hushed argument, and were not to be bothered. Dumbledore smiled brightly at Harry as he took his seat along with the rest of the sylphs. Arthur Weasley was staring at them, for he had only seen Harry yesterday, not the rest of the sylphs, and he would need some time to get used to them. The veela countess looked at them with something akin to contempt in her gaze, and Triskele smiled at her. She huffed and turned away. Lemagne smiled at the display, turning to the others that were slowly filing in. Mr. Weasley blinked and looked away, having finally gotten used to the sight of the company of sylphs. He turned to watch the others file in to the room, joining Lemagne in his perusal of them.  
  
In flitted the queen of the fairies, followed closely by several rather unfortunate House Elves who had the job of carrying a tub with the Cheiftan of the Merpeople in it, and setting it at the table.  
  
Harry had never seen a real merman before; well, at least, not one of this race. He had ever only seen freshwater merpeople, and this was one of the great mermen of the seas. His beard was black, as was his hair. Harry felt a chill run down his spine as he noticed that his eyes were pitch black, like a seal's. They had never seen light to tint them, and without the light, there was no way they would have to have white in his eyes. He had lean muscle, the muscle of one who swims to get it, not the muscle of one who lifts heavy weight all day. His brow and cheekbones were high, yet his eyes had a slightly Asian tilt to them, and his nose was flat and narrow. He had seen many things in his long lifetime, but most of them were not things that people who walked upon the land would understand. He had seen great sea wars; he had seen the catching of his people in fish nets; he had seen the wars between the different races of oceanic peoples, and he took it all in stride. His bathtub was really more of a pensieve bowl, with strange lettering on the side that was not readable to anyone who did not read sylvan. Engraved upon it were these words:  
  
Do not get lost in your own minds, For your mind is not ours to see Your thoughts are a gift, the words that bind You to the great utopian seas Do not forgive, do not forget, But do not hold your grudges there For taxing times will come yet And you'll need more time inside the lair Of your mind  
  
It was a shining silver, bound with gold, and held far more than just the Chieftan that lay there, but what else was not for them to know.  
  
Next came the two people that Harry had not known would be coming, but had met at the welcoming ball. They were the Korean Emperer and Emperess of Magic, and they had come for unclarified reasons; for as much as the sylphs could guess using logic and each other, they still did not know everything. But, perhaps if they had lived here and not in the Underworld, they would know more in the affairs of Mankind and Witchkind. They had seemed agreeable people, and some of the sort that had made the ball exotic. He was dressed in a plain black tuxedo and she wore a purple kimono eccentrically. Harry had taken a close liking to them, and smiled now as they found their seats.  
  
At this point Harry was distracted when Hagrid bowed his head to enter through the door that was meant only for people of a more allowing size. He smiled brightly, and waved, and Hagrid smiled back. He quickly took his seat, the rather overlarge one beside the Veela countess. She looked at him rather disdainfully, and turned her nose to someone else.  
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat and signalled that they were ready to begin by standing and addressing the council of different races.  
  
"You have all been called here to partake in the decision making that may begin the war, and may not. All here are present, and we must get to work quickly."  
  
"Eighteen places are set but only seventeen are here. Where is Dunhall of the Grey Wizards? I wish to see him." Eldrid asked during a slight pause.  
  
"He has been delayed by great powers." Harry answered, looking to his fellow order member.  
  
"He will be coming sometime next week." Lemagne added as an afterthought.  
  
Dumbledore looked as though he had been about to answer the question, but he shook his head as it was answered for him. He was a bit flustered as he continued, but only the sylphs knew what it was he felt at the time.  
  
"We have a great many things to discuss today, but I fear that I have no order in which we will go, only that I will start by saying a few words and from there we'll . . . just have to wing it." His eyes sparkled as he looked at the rest of the council, and, taking a deep breath, continued his speech.  
  
"The Dark Lord's citadel is as of yet unknown to us, but there is evidence that he has travelled far and wide from it. The Peruvian governments have contacted me to complain of the wild men that kill their villiages; the dwarf nation of Canada is growing uneasy at the thing that might just sound like Dark Spells in their land. The whispers of the Death Eaters' evil blow across their lands with the force of many crossing winds. Here in England the land is already being tarnished to nothing of a wasteland; we are the place where the Death Eaters go to have fun while torturing innocents. Our news comes mostly from cloaked informants that may or may not be just trying to make us believe something that isn't true and may be a trap. I feel the losses of our people every day; it weighs heavy on our minds. Before we can separate truth from falsehood we must know the rumors of other peoples as well as our own." He finally sat, and looked to the other representatives for grace.  
  
"There are rumors in our mines, there is no doubt about that. There is talk of strange . . . things that could hardly be called people traveling in our lands. They never come to the mines, but they travel the wide territories of the north. There is talk that they don't rest, and they never stop, and if they do, it is only to converse together in a dark tongue." The Dwarf lady spoke before the lord could get a word in. "We fear for our people, although these creatures don't seem to want our iron or nickel. Nor do they really seem to be interested in our actions. They are looking for something, but what they would want with our people is beyond us."  
  
"Thank you, Lady Gretel." Mr. Weasley said, and the dwarf lady smiled a hideous smile through her slight beard.  
  
"That is odd, for we have found strange things searching our country as well. They have never come down from the skies, but everyone fears the day that they might. They are nothing but a shadow on our lands, but we still fear them." The Korean empress of magic added.  
  
"We have at least one thing that appears true, for we have seen their shadow come and go as well." Mr. Weasley confirmed.  
  
There was a slight pause in which everyone looked a bit uncomfortable.  
  
"Are they the only travelors you've noticed? We see far more than you do in our small country of France." The Veela Countess spoke up.  
  
"And what is of so great importance that you cannot name it without a pause?" Draelf, the dwarf lord, interjected.  
  
"Pray tell, do these strangers that you speak of, the Hands of Fear, wear grey cloaks to cover their features?" She asked, irritated.  
  
"No. They wear black."  
  
"Then we are not speaking of the same people." She paused, creating a dramatic effect. "The people who haunt our villages are clothed in grey, and they keep their hoods up to cover their features. We ignored them at first, but it was unnerving how they melted completely into the background. We never could tell if they were there or not. They were sent as spies to our lands, and listened in on a conversation between two of my most trusted advisors. The next week, the entire Veela guard was slaughtered. We have no army, not one of them survived the purging of lives. They devastated our families, and they let loose strange omens to the air. We go no where without first looking with a mirror to see if it falls over a shrouded figure crouching in the corner. Our families are terrified, and refuse to go to work. Our economy has crashed into the ground, and our former gaiety is squandered to our feet. No music plays, and no children laugh without being shushed by their mothers."  
  
"You say these people were cloaked in grey?" Mr. Weasley asked keenly.  
  
"Yes, and held nothing to set them up as being of their true wealth and magic. For they would have had to have used means both magical and seductive."  
  
"This is a strange predicament. They sound rather like the grey wizards do, but why would they be after Veelan lands? And if not their lands, what do they want?" Mr. Weasley wondered aloud.  
  
"It is not within our bounds to know." The Veela Countess let her words drift.  
  
"Surely they cannot have fallen to darkness! The leader of the Grey Wizards is going to be here tomorrow!" The Chieftan of the Merpeople exclaimed in shock.  
  
"It is not entirely impossible. These are dangerous times; and in dangerous times, you can never be too sure of who your allies are." The Fairy Queen predicted in a voice that was far too low to come from a person of her stature.  
  
"There is nothing we can do until Dunhall arrives tomorrow. It is imperative that we watch him closely." The Lady Gretel said.  
  
"What a riddle our lives have turned out to be!" The Empress of Magic from Korea said.  
  
"The riddle here thickens; two nights ago we found a ship to be newly sunken in the depths of the ocean just off the eastern coast of Africa. When we inspected it, we found it to have no crew, and no load. We searched the waters surrounding it, and there was no tell tale oil leak, and no rust on any of the ship's engines. I sent a selkie to investigate the shores of South America, for the only thing we had found was a sea route to Alexandria, Egypt from Brazil. She searched through all records of sea deportations from the year, and not one had been going to Egypt. We found no magical items of any kind, but the ship reeked of the stuff; it was far too suspicious not to remember!" The Chieftan of the Merpeople added to the discussion.  
  
"Are you absolutely sure you weren't hallucinating?" The Veela Countess asked cheekily.  
  
"You didn't see it, so you couldn't have known of its reality!"  
  
"You don't sound very sure, do you? I am afraid that this claim is too radical to take seriously."  
  
"I brought the map knowing you'd be here, o goddess of impertinence." He reached into his pensieve to bring out the watered paper. He set it in the center of the table, for all to observe.  
  
The Veela Countess sucked in an exasperated breath and said; "I can not read it."  
  
"You may not be able to read it, but I can." The Fairy Queen snorted, walking daintily over to it and staring down at it. She looked up at Mr. Weasley. "What news do you bring us from South America?"  
  
"Grave news. They too complain of a strange folk walking among them, though they are not clad in grey. They say that families are being hunted down one by one; that the wizards and witches of their land are the first to die, and second to go are the Muggles and their children. They were never very rich and stable in their countries to begin with, but now they are suffering more. They are being pressured to support You-Know-Who, and when they refuse, more people die. We need to do something to help them, though it would not be wise to just spring into action. We must offer the hand of friendship, and advice, and only then can we help them."  
  
"Had they been invited to these meetings?" Harry asked, speaking for the first time.  
  
"Yes, they had, but it was too risky for them to leave their homelands at the time that we scheduled this meeting. They should be arriving sometime in early winter." Mr. Weasley smiled at Harry, and several people in the room jumped, having forgotten that the sylphs had even been there.  
  
"Sometime in early winter? They shall all be dead by then!" The Chieftan of the Merpeople pronounced.  
  
"That is what they wished, nothing sooner." Mr. Weasley said. "Fairy Queen, you have not yet spoken on behalf of your people."  
  
The tiny woman looked startled for a moment, then gathered her breath to speak.  
  
"We are a tiny people, and these affairs are so large; in the search for power we are often forgotten. I did not come to seek counsel or reassurance, I merely came to give it."  
  
"What about you, emperor of Korea? What news do you bring us?" Mr. Weasley turned to his Asian counterpart.  
  
"We have come only to speak of what hasn't happened, rather than what has. We haven't had any Death Eater attacks, and that is strange to us. Normally, we'd have been the first victims. We are powerful by far, and knowledgeable. Most experiments are researched in our laboratories. Of course You-Know-Who would want to take us out, but he hasn't made a move to. We are always wary, and we feel his presence, but never have we seen it." The emperor explained, a troubled look crossing his features.  
  
"Well, except for the dark wind riders, as I mentioned before." The empress interrupted.  
  
"Oh, yes, except for them." The emperor absentmindedly added.  
  
There was silence as everyone took this in. They looked shocked, to say the least, but soon got over it. Dumbledore was the first to speak.  
  
"This is strange news to us. You say you can feel his presence, how so?"  
  
"There is always a dark wind brewing from the near west; we do not know what it is that he has planned for us, but we only know its coming." The empress said.  
  
"Is it as if he is close?" Eldrid asked.  
  
"Yes." The emperor agreed.  
  
"Then we have found Voldemort's citadel." Harry said with a strange gleam in his eye.  
  
"How can you be sure?" The Veela Countess questioned, suspicious.  
  
"Think of it this way. Most of Asia is jungle, and Europe is not. Therefore, we don't know how to go about fighting in a jungle, and we get easily wiped out. We could never bring an army with us on a mission to destroy him, because we'd need to destroy the jungle slowly as we went. And besides, if his citadel were there, he would have the upper hand, knowing the terrain better than we. It would be foolish to attack him, so we can't, and he doesn't have to worry about us attacking it from the inside. He has chosen the best possible place to set up his lair, simply because it is so hard to get to. It is ideal to him.  
  
"But he is not ignorant, and it was not by chance that he built it there. He knows that attacking your people would be foolish, for they know the ground even better than he does. It is impossible to say that he would go after you now; oh, no, he'll wait until he has the help of the South Americans, for they have long had to deal with the rainforest that is there. If he succeeds in breaking them, you are done for. We must help the South Americans as much as they need, for it is them that holds the balancing act together." Harry's eyes definitely had a light violet tint to them by now.  
  
Again there was silence in the room as the people took time to process these words. Mr. Weasley looked as though everything made sense now, and the Korean emperor and empress stared ahead, doom alight in their eyes. There was silence, and Harry's eyes shifted slightly back to the greener shades.  
  
"This is a lot to stew over, so I say that we should leave here, and save the rest for tomorrow." Dumbledore finally said. "When the new day comes, we shall see Dunhall of the grey people and we can demand of him what his motives and true alliances are. We have discovered much that was once a mystery to us, and whenever that happens, you must have time to think over it. Go back to your rooms and other lives, and in the new day we will meet again at the eleventh hour. This meeting is adjourned."  
  
* * *  
  
Harry stood at the portrait of the Gryffindor Common Room, staring up at the overlarge woman wearing a pink satin dress. She had refused him entrance, and he now stared at her.  
  
"Well, I didn't really want to get in the Common Room, I just came to see how you were doing." Harry smiled up at her, straight teeth gleaming in the corridors.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, it's not everyday that you get to meet talking portraits, that I must say, since I grew up with muggles, but you were always one of the most noble." Harry hated himself for doing this, but if he must he must. "I know that when the people are students here they don't take you seriously, and that is a pity, but then again I did so myself, and am now quite ashamed of it."  
  
"You're just saying that." The large woman smiled to herself.  
  
"No, no, I mean it, you really left an impression on me. Of course, I never thought of it when I was here, but in the sylvan underworld we do not have talking portraits, and I rather missed you. It just wasn't the same.  
  
"But there is one thing I've always wondered about you."  
  
"What is that?" The slightly-weightier-than-thin woman giggled slightly.  
  
"How do you do your job?"  
  
"Oh, but I'm not much. All I do all day is think up passwords, and then tell the prefects, and then the prefects are the ones that tell everyone else. Then I just sit here all day and wait for people to tell me the passwords. It is a rather simple job." She said, looking down meekly.  
  
"You do much more than you're given credit for." Harry said, reassuring her that she was worth something. "In fact, I bet you could tell me next week's password right now if I asked!"  
  
She smiled a watery smile at him, and said; "Yes, I suppose I could do that."  
  
"Yeah, see? So, can you tell me next week's password?" He tried not to look too innocent, he knew she would not tell him if he did.  
  
"Yes, why, I can! It's silver stool." She smiled at Harry, and Harry smiled back.  
  
"See? You're worth a lot more than your students make known to you!" he repeated, but at that moment she swung forward to let Ron and Hermione out.  
  
"Harry! We didn't expect to see you here." Ron said, but Hermione had a question in her eyes.  
  
"Were you just talking to yourself?" She asked, and Harry shook his head.  
  
"No, I was having a much needed conversation with the guardian of Gryffindor." He couldn't help but smile at the muffled giggles emitting from the portrait.  
  
"Would you like to come in to the Common Room? We had just left to look for you." Ron's invitation did sound rather enjoyable, so Harry nodded his head and followed his two friends into the Common Room.  
  
As the portrait swung shut behind them, Harry looked around the Common Room in awe at all the changes that had come over it.  
  
They had rearranged the furniture so that there were clusters and groupings of chairs throughout the room, and they weren't just hectically arranged around the fire. There was a small hanging candelabra floating down from the ceiling, and several decorative objects lining the mantelpiece. This was not the only great change that had come about. Directly to his left there was . . . a kitchen?  
  
"That was installed by Dumbledore during the Easter holiday last year, just in case Hogwarts is ever under siege." Ron quickly explained, seeing Harry's raised eyebrow. "It is also supposed to make it so that we are not that tempted to wander the halls at night, as it is far more dangerous now than it ever was before You-Know-Who returned."  
  
There weren't very many students in the Common Room, in fact it was really just Colin and Ginny talking in a corner and Dean and Seamus playing an idle game of Exploding Snap. When Dean looked up from their game, he spotted Ron's red hair and quickly came to join them.  
  
"Oi, Ron, Hermione have you seen Harry yet? I tried to find him at the ball last night and wasn't able to." He looked genuinely interested, and when Seamus came over he slapped him on the back of the head.  
  
"Dean, that's a load of half-said shit. The real reason why he couldn't find him last night was that he was too dazzled by the other sylphs that on sight of them he completely forgot about our once-classmate in a fit of teenage boyhood randyness." Seamus explained in his usual tactless way.  
  
"Well, you certainly don't have far to look, he's right there." Hermione said, rolling her eyes and pointing at Harry, who was laughing silently to himself. Dean and Seamus turned wide eyes to the person they had thought was just the leader of the sylphs and not their old friend.  
  
"Harry?" Dean asked, wonderment in his eyes.  
  
Seamus turned to his friend. "Oh my god Dean! Do you know how many Harrys there are in the world? That is no safe question!" He looked at Harry. "Harry Potter?"  
  
"Yes, it's me." Harry managed to say through his laughter.  
  
"Why didn't you tell Ron and Hermione that you were the leader of the sylphs?" Dean asked, still amazed.  
  
"And have them tell you and miss the looks on your faces? Never!"  
  
Dean and Seamus pouted, making Harry laugh some more. Eventually, Dean and Seamus joined in with the laughter of Ron and Hermione. When they finally calmed themselves, Seamus wiped at his eyes and spoke.  
  
"Seriously, now I have to ask a serious question."  
  
"Anything, what is it?" Harry asked, looking at the Irishman.  
  
"When did you become a transvestite?"  
  
* * *  
  
Dear Father,  
  
I know that you are angry with me for being recruited into the Clan of the Grey Wizards. I understand completely your suspicion and estrangement from me, but this is not another letter pleading for forgiveness, nor is it written in rage toward you. This letter is strictly of business, and since I am the one closest to you, I was chosen among our people to write it.  
  
I have the sorry job of telling you that our leader, Mr. Dunhall, will not be arriving. There has been a crisis among our ranks, and, to make a long story much less complicated, he was killed while fighting for the side of light. We have not yet taken up a new leader, and so can not attend the Meeting of Many Peoples, but wish to be kept informed of your plans and movements so we can help in any way possible.  
  
Apologetically,  
  
Charlie Weasley  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
A/N: Well, didn't I just take my time on this one! I went through writers' block all through January, and the last ¾ of this was written this week. I have a new system for writing, so I will definitely be updating more often.  
  
The next time I update, I'm changing the categories this is under to Fantasy/Mystery, because, well, the romance is VERY undecided and therefore irrelevant to the plot.  
  
Also, I have finally figured out why I only take signed reviews, have fixed it, just so you know for all of you who read this but don't have an account.  
  
Which brings me to your reviews:  
  
Clepsydra-Delphinus- Well, I think I made up for last chapter's strangeness- without-transvestite-comments with this one! And anyway, about the dwarf lord, Draelf, well . . . I guess that was me being American. So far I've really been trying to stay in a British form of mind, but I was having so much fun with that scene that I guess it kinda just slipped a little. Oh, yeah, and he's Canadian, so I think that helps . . .  
  
Kitty- 3days!!!!!!!???????? Wow, I didn't know that this story was long enough to be read over that span of time. It's just freakin' me out a little . . . yeah, I should really stop typing.  
  
mistykasumi- I started this as a Harry/Draco fic, but then that died, so I don't know what's going to happen there, and yes, sometimes I try to be confusing, but it will (or at least it should) clear itself up by the end of this . . . if there is one . . .  
  
Shades- Again, I really don't know who Harry's going to end up falling in love with. Sorry!  
  
Grey Malfoy- Ginny is going to get veeeery interesting . . . I can't tell you just how interesting, that would be cheating! I know I'm evil, I relish in my sadistic-ness.  
  
tima-Thank you so much!  
  
Dhracian-Celestine- I had fun writing Ron, Harry, and Hermione's get- together. Tee hee . . . That was veeeery fun. 


	13. Chapter13: The Decision

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story might include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Until I can finish writing the sylvan language, I will be force to use the closest thing to it; J.R.R. Tolkien's elvish. Please understand that I didn't write it, or else I'd be much more financially endowed than I currently am. Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
Chapter 13: The Decision  
  
The very next day, Harry sat in the very same spot. He was early; he had left without even Nikiatom knowing of his passing. Such was the power that had been vested in him that he could move silently and without notice from sentinels. It was a talent that had come much in need when he had been living among his fame, and it was what had kept him from being caught by professors as he wandered after hours.  
  
The morning breeze came in from the windows, the overcast sky presenting a gloomy English morning. It was a morning of promise; but that promise could have either been bad or good. Perhaps it could have been both. Harry didn't know, nor did he really think it was his place to know.  
  
The Chieftan of the Merpeople had not been brought in yet, and he was quite alone. That is, until he heard the clicking footsteps that told him of the arrival of the Veela Countess. He turned to her, regarding her with a look of quiet contemplation. She looked at him with something akin to wariness. She dodged around the table; sending searching glances into the shadows, and waited for him to say something.  
  
"Hello," he finally greeted her, as he stood (it was the custom of the sylphs to stand when alone in a room with someone they hardly know.)  
  
"Hello," she answered, watching him slightly out the corner of her eye.  
  
"It would be terrible small talk to say that it is a lovely morning, because it just simply is not." Harry tentatively began, inviting her to talk to him.  
  
"How many ways do you mean that?" She asked, slightly avoiding her own topic of conversation.  
  
Harry blinked at her. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." It was a lie, but carefully disguised.  
  
"I'm sure you do."  
  
There was a tense silence. The Veela Countess gained half the twelve feet that lay between them. Harry remained where he stood, determined not to show his nerves. His heart beat in his ears and his fingers shook slightly, but the Veela were never really famous for their powers of observation, and it went unnoticed.  
  
"You know exactly what it is I mean." She almost snarled, but anyone who was listening outside the door would have heard it only as a statement.  
  
"I know what the sylphs believe they know about everything, and I also know that they are far too cocky. Do not tell me that you know not what I mean, I'm not that stupid."  
  
"I know you aren't. I was just trying to keep this conversation polite. And I wanted you to elaborate slightly; not everything that we assume is right." He countered.  
  
"Have you no shame?" she asked, striding just that much closer to her audience of one. "Have you no mortification?"  
  
Harry was getting more nervous as she started to circle him.  
  
"You have too much pride, I guess that must be the answer. If you do not know of what it is that I speak of, then you are not fit to be the ruler of your people."  
  
"What is it you know of the customs of my people?" Harry asked, turning his head to follow her figure.  
  
"I know that you are young, and the sylphs must be stupid to let someone so child-like and inexperienced to preside over them. I am also very learned on the topic of forgotten lore, for what I find in the ancient histories no one really remembers quite interesting. I know more about you and your people than anyone else born in this world does. There is one thing that I find particularly interesting."  
  
She came to a stop in front of Harry.  
  
"The Veela and the sylphs were never allies." The look she gave him made Harry shiver.  
  
"I despair that we are now; after all, among wizards and men, the old alliances are only broken with treason and deceit, and old enemies find it hard to shove away their differences. The Veela are closer to human than non-human, and so our old dispute can not be reforged as the relationship of an alliance. If you believe it will be easy for us to work together, then you are even more of a fool than I make of you." The Veela Countess looked Harry up and down. He decided not to say anything to that; he was far too angry to manipulate the situation in his favor. The Countess continued.  
  
"What is it that you think we can solve? Together, we are nothing. The sylphs can only stand alone; they can never be a part of someone else. We could never work together cooperatively."  
  
"What do you mean, the sylphs will always stand alone?" Harry asked, his voice low and slightly menacing.  
  
The Countess simply smiled a leering grin, and took a step forward. "You are the beauties of night; we are the beauties of day. The day is a far more comfortable thing to represent. It is wholesome, bright, ordinary, and welcoming. No one has ever been terrified of day before. There is no darkness to shadow its beauty.  
  
"Night is a far cry from day. It is alluring, tempting, dark. It has so many layers that you can never truly know whether what is outside your window is a friendly squirrel or a snake in the grass. There are too many levels of night; there's too much potential. It is beautiful only because you can never really guess exactly what it is. It is random, and terrible. You can never truly comprehend the night sky, nor can you comprehend the bright spots of night, the stars. You are made of stardust; we are made of sunlight. The two can never mix." She finished, proud of herself, eyes raking over Harry as he stood before her, bound and determined not to lose his temper.  
  
"You forget that the sun is a star." He muttered, before turning on his heal and walking with dignity from the room.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco smiled as he read in his History of Magic book. His father had implanted a firm love of history in his head; it was ingrained upon him, so he had no chance of ever finding it dull when and if he overthrew the man. Of course, there were many upsides to having a rich father. The most obvious being the fact that what would normally not befall a family like the Weasleys (this was actually accurate; the Weasleys had been so poor for so long that any rich legacy was still a joke. They did not know yet how they could use so much of their money; therefore it was completely beside the point to think that this luxury was in their grasp.) was really something that had happened to the Malfoys on several occasions. It also helped that the Malfoys had been quite wealthy from the ninth year BC and had gained quite an awful amount of basic crap for their lives that they really had no idea what to do with it. Which brings us to the fact that Draco was presently reading a first edition Revised Study of the Sylvan Downfall, written by a man that was unfortunate enough to be named Sherlock.  
  
Anyway, it was extremely strange to read, as Sherlock had been a commander for the wizards who turned traitor. The sylvan people had fascinated Draco so much at the ball, though he hadn't been allowed to show it, that he just had to find out more about them. Their culture was absolutely overlooked, because when wizards and men were not killing them they were seen purely as an object of lust. No one had really bothered to study them, and they were secretive enough to keep their civilization hidden.  
  
He turned the page, enthralled to be able to study something without having it to be censored by his father. It was completely unexpected, and a delight to be able to have his own way for once. Of course, there could never be a problem in his little amount of liberty. There could never be.  
  
He didn't know that the studies went both ways.  
  
* * *  
  
Charlie,  
  
I regret to inform you that as you are not represented at a secret council, your people can not know of our movements. If we were ever to keep you informed, it could possibly be a danger to us and our cause. We do not know you well enough to say whether you are actually one of the Grey Wizards, or a spy for the Death Eaters.  
  
We sincerely apologize for the . . . inconvenience.  
  
Signed, Arthur Weasley, Minister of Magic-England  
  
Charlie stared at the letter in shock. They had been invited to the meeting, so they had supposed that since they could not arrive there, they would at least be able to obtain information on what went on at it. He quickly scanned it again, looking for things written between the lines, and found none. Sirius watched him from where he quietly sat poking at the fire. The older man's features were lit in tones of brilliant red and orange, and every wrinkle of his face was concentrated toward the young dragon tamer. A small curl of frozen breath curled from his mouth, and he shifted closer to the fire.  
  
It wasn't that odd that both should somehow end up on the same mission; both had joined the Clan of the Grey Wizards earlier that year. They had, of course, known of each other before. Charlie had heard of Sirius through the wild tales that Grandmother Weasley had told to Bill and himself before Percy was old enough to understand them. She may have been an eccentric grandmother who didn't really care about rules, but she knew what would spoil the delicate coverings of the young and innocent. It had been a tale told after Percy had fallen asleep to the story of the Boy-Who-Lived. They looked forward to it every time she came to visit or vice versa just as Percy looked forward to the stories of the baby savior. Sirius had, of course, heard about Charlie through Ron, but that was only the most obvious connection. He had heard of the younger eldest child from his mother, Mrs. Weasley, who had explained what her two elder sons had done with their lives after Hogwarts at Christmas last year, when he had still had Harry with him.  
  
To tell the truth, Sirius had been looking forward to seeing Harry again. Had their company not been attacked by a war party on the way to England, he would have gotten to see his godson while there. He had been corresponding with Harry, as he had done while on the run from authorities, ever since the boy had left for the Sylvan Underworld. He learned much from his godson, and a lot of it was useful information to the Grey Company. Harry knew of his decision not to remain a High Wizard, and supported him all around. It seemed to Sirius that Harry knew a lot more than he said he did, or, rather, more than he would if he were simply a High Wizard, as everyone had always thought. He knew better what went on in peoples' heads than people really gave him credit for. The sylphs were such a unique race that they tended to be a subject of mystification among the more educated of the High Wizards. Those less educated listened to the tales of the Tuatha de Dannan and decided that they were sylphs, and even those were on a higher level of intelligence than the rest of the normal population.  
  
He had never really been truly happy in his old house. Sure, he had been strangely excited while Harry had been staying with him, but after he left and Sirius was alone, it left him with nothing to distract him. Everywhere he looked he saw something that reminded him of Ophelia. There was a hint of her scent here, a small decorative touch to the house there, and the fact that he had never moved her things out of the house before he was arrested just made him almost completely break down.  
  
And that was how Charlie had found him. The Grey Wizards had known through unclear sources that Sirius was innocent before he had even escaped Azkaban. They knew far more than anyone really supposed they did. Anyway, they also knew from some strange person that Sirius was very bright and talented, but had been rotting in Azkaban for far too long. When Sirius had finally been set free, Charlie joined the Clan. Every new member who came to them out of their own desire was supposed to try to recruit someone else as a right of passage, and Charlie thought that it would be easiest to do it through his slight connection to Sirius. Sirius had seen it as a way to get out of his house and do what he was so used to doing: live on the move. Sirius had not had to recruit someone, as he did not come to them freely and ask to join, so he could get started right away. And that was how they had come to be on this mission together.  
  
Charlie looked up from pondering the letter and saw Sirius staring at him intently. He waited for Sirius to say something, which he promptly did.  
  
"What's in the letter?" He asked. In their training regime they had been forced to ask the most direct questions possible in any situation.  
  
"It's a letter from my father. He won't send us information." Charlie answered shortly, creasing the letter and putting it in his pocket.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"He sprouted out some bull about how we weren't at the secret meeting we couldn't get our hands on such confidential information." Charlie played with his fingernails.  
  
Sirius thought about what it was that Charlie had said. "Does it bother you?"  
  
"A little. He treated me like an inferior, but what really hurt was that he didn't treat me like his son."  
  
They sat quietly for a while, neither really knowing what to say, or what the other wanted him to say. Dusk turned to evening, evening turned to night, and they sat with their own troubling thoughts. They had a lot to think about, as was the general rule of being a part of the Clan of the Grey Wizards. Eventually they decided they should put out the fire, for fear of an enemy finding them. When it was all over and done with, they agreed upon who would take the first shift, and when exactly the other would have to take over. Sirius decided Charlie needed sleep to get his mind off his father, and so took the first shift. He wrapped his torn cloak around his body and shivered into the night.  
  
* * *  
  
"Yesterday, we left off with everyone having spoken but my dear friend Arthur." Dumbledore stated as the second council started. "So, to start off today's discussions, I think we should hear from the English Minister of Magic." Dumbledore sat down as Arthur Weasley stood up.  
  
"Thank you, Professor." Arthur cleared his throat. "We have a lot of information, most of which the people already know. The only things that need to be said as new information is what I am about to say." He paused slightly. "The reason we have next to no information about You-Know-Who's whereabouts is that our spies have nearly all been killed. Whenever they did find information, the Death Eaters found out who they were, and killed them. Each body found had its eyes poked out, and mouth open in terror."  
  
Harry gasped to himself. It was starting to make sense.  
  
"We could never find anything other than that. No notes were left on the bodies, nothing. We believe that there may be a subdivision within the larger group of Death Eaters that has been leaving this as their trademark. We cannot be too sure, but we have that idea. None of the other Death Eater attacks both of the past and of the present have turned up anything like this, that is, only just recently and only on our spies."  
  
Nikiatom leaned forward in her seat.  
  
"It's not as though we haven't publisized information to our people. Quite the contrary, actually. It is so hard to get the press out of our business that the people know more than is really good for them. Some small bits of information need to be repeated just so that I have made sure that everyone knows what I'm talking about.  
  
"We almost informed the Muggles of our situation, and with that given away all secrecy we had ever wanted to keep. Then we noticed a very strange pattern in the deaths of You-Know-Who's victims. The only Muggles ever killed were in drunken Death Eater massacres. It seems as though the Dark Lord and his minions are occupied with something very different nowadays. I don't know exactly what they could be plotting, simply because with the lack of Muggle killings we can no longer be sure of their goals.  
  
"Most people know that the people to become Death Eaters are, more than likely, Slytherins and pureblood. But a new development has the world stumped. There has been a series of murders within the upper class of wizards. Most of the victims of these serial murders are witches who are wealthy, pureblood, and were once in Slytherin house. They have been murdered brutally, their throats all slit and stomachs twisted in mutation. None of their eyes were open at the scene of the crime, but they were still intact, so the theory that the persons who killed them were the same murderers of our spies."  
  
Eldrid suddenly remembered something that may have been of importance.  
  
"We have been pressured to act on these brutal murders, but our Unspeakables and Aurors have not found any leads whatsoever. All they have to battle these silent serial killers are theories, and theories that don't make sense at that. The strangest development was the abandoning of Knockturn Alley just last week. It appears as if all the wizards and witches that had been on those streets all disappeared at once. Or all Apparated at once. Under closer inspection, we found several cash registers open with money strewn across the counters, but none stolen. All Dark objects that had not been bought were left behind, and in being left behind were forgotten. There must have been something of great importance on the dark side of the road that happened, otherwise things wouldn't have been abandoned so quickly."  
  
The Chieftan of the Merpeople tried to sit up straighter in his Pensieve, but only managed to splash water on the Queen of the Fairies. She sent an irritated look his way, and he shrugged apologetically.  
  
"There is rumor of an attack on Hogsmeade, so the entire town will be evacuating this afternoon. I have offered as much room and board as I can in my newly-built Manor, but the rest of the people of that town are lost as to where to go. Some will flee the country, others will go into hiding, but none shall remain to answer the beck-and-call of the students of Hogwarts. The food that we have put away for another time is dwindling into the shadows, and rapidly, and without the merchants of Hogsmeade it is impossible to know where we will get our supplies. Professor McGonagall, our Transfiguration teacher, is re-studying the serious issue of food transfiguration to see if there is anything she can do, and Professor Flitwick, our Charms professor, has tried a Multiplicity charm several times. There is just not much that we can do for ourselves at this point. With all or most of our good spies gone, it is hard to obtain any information about what it is we need to be doing to help ourselves. I fear for the future of these British Isles."  
  
A heavy silence filled the room, and they counted their heartbeats in the suspension. It was Dumbledore who decided that it was his time to speak.  
  
"There seems to be no hope left for any of the wizarding kind. Things are far too complicated and our guesswork is far too patchy. We can never say that we know everything, because the little we do is based mostly on hypothesis. But there is one thing that we must always remember, and that is the fact that there are a lot of people represented in this room. As long as we can depend on each other, we know we have a strong alliance. People are what make the difference here, and people we have. We just don't know how many of us we'll need, and that is the real worry." Dumbledore stood as he began what he was needed to say.  
  
"I have more information than you, Mr. Weasley, and I don't mean to taunt you, and I hope I didn't. I have a close network of spies, and if the information had been shared before this very day, it would have been worthless.  
  
"Voldemort does indeed have a very strong gaze toward the dark, and therefore, he draws our eyes onto himself. But I have had a lot of experience in my life, and I know that sometimes things happen when you are looking the other way, and some people have labeled these 'some things' into a larger category called 'life.' It was so back in the forties, when I was steeling myself to defeat the then dark-lord Grindelwald, when in truth a far greater enemy was rising right in front of my then less-crooked nose.  
  
"What I really need to say is that we should not just assume that Lord Voldemort is the only concern here. We have the sleepless riders to consider, as well as the position of the Clan of the Grey Wizards. Things are not always simple as black and white, for sometimes there are people who have started a third or maybe even fourth side to the story. Much of my information is not through fact, but rather the ellusive words that scream at people through the lines. Not everyone listens to this screaming, however. After all, when you yourself are bellowing at the top of your lungs, how much are you really going to catch? I should think not much. The only thing we have really to consider is that we are not the only right way, and in order to listen to the future, sometimes you have to take a moment to be still." The old professor's twinkling gaze fell on Mr. Weasley, just as Triskele looked into his mind. The balding redhead gasped, and let his head fall to his hands to hide the wrinkles that formed there.  
  
"I do not wish to be rude, professor, but I have to ask you one thing. Do you think we can still trust the people that have not pulled through? Because I need guidance on the matter." Draelf said, shocking everyone out of the stupor of flowery words.  
  
"Master Dwarf, you must remember something; there is a reason for everything, but your reason might not always be the real reason. If you are referring to Dunhall, I must say that his part in this web of a story is not yet over, even though he may be dead." The dwarf looked away and grumbled something to himself.  
  
"But that does not answer our question of what to do." The Veela Countess interjected. "If we wait to find out who the real enemy is, and to have more information, You-Know-Who will have killed half the population of the world. The matters at hand are far more pressing than dreams of lemon drops and peace. This is the first step we have to take together to improve our sad times in this world. What is to be done about You-Know-Who is much more important than petty visions of something that we have never tasted for long."  
  
"You should know of what it is peace means; your people have taken far more than their share of it." The Fairy Queen stated, calmly inspecting her fingernails for dirt.  
  
"You are so small that you have no concept of the larger world, so it would be best if you held your tongue!" The Veela Countess shot back, fully engaged in the job of arguing with undeniable fact.  
  
"If I were to hold my tongue some people would forget I was here!"  
  
"Maybe if you were of importance to our future, we wouldn't forget your presence!"  
  
This was gradually growing to the level of a very bad shouting contest, and if someone didn't do something soon, it was likely to progress to be physically harmful.  
  
"Will you both swallow your arrogance and be quiet! There is nothing to be accomplished if we can't work together!" The Chieftan of the Merpeople shouted over the two voices. He looked as though he would be standing had he had legs. "Thank you. Dumbledore, continue."  
  
"Thank you, Urukaluion. I believe that there is one race that we have not heard from, and that is the sylphs. Present your information." Dumbledore nodded to them.  
  
Eldrid stood (everyone had known that he would be the one to speak; it was obvious) and cleared her throat. "Since it has been long that we have been hidden, and therefore our affairs have not mirrored the affairs of the Free People for many centuries, our part in this war is a strange and seemingly small one. But there is one piece of information that we have to present as new to this counsel, and that is the fact that there was a traitor among our people. We believe that the only logical place for this traitor to have gone would be to Lord Voldemort, and it is rare that our assumptions are wrong. This may be drastic news, and it may not be, only time can tell."  
  
Eldrid sat back down in his seat, and looked to the Veela Countess, waiting for her to say something.  
  
"What is so terrible about a traitor among your people? You can't have that much information if you haven't lived up here for centuries, and what can one sylph do that is so much more terrible than what a traitor among wizardkind would do?" She looked to the party of sylphs for answers. She got them from Lemagne.  
  
"Part of what makes us so different from wizardkind is the amount of power we have in simply our minds. The only reason that it would be impossible for anyone to listen in on this counsel would be the fact that we have been cutting off the hearing of others so it would be impossible to spy on these meetings. We can speak through telepathy, and therefore read the minds of others as they hear things. From the person's reaction, we can figure out what it is they heard, and therefore find much more information about movements than one would have thought possible. If a sylph were to be loyal to Voldemort, they would be able to block us out just as we have blocked them out. Not only that, but we obviously have a very different style of fighting than anyone who is in the Free World, and if the traitor were willing and knowledgeable enough, they could teach the Death Eater ranks to fight in our way. That would give them an advantage in combat, so we will have to teach troops to fight in our ways as well, even if they aren't sylvan. It is grave news to your ears, even though you may not know it, to hear that a trecherous sylph went over to the darker side of magic." That having been said, Lemagne sat back down and quickly transfigured a piece of air into a goblet of water. She took a sip, and crossed his legs. Professor Dumbledore slowly rose to his feet, as no one had any other information to present.  
  
"Now that we are all up to speed on the happenings of our different and distant lands, we may need some time to adjust to our new knowledge. You have, no doubt, plans of your own that you have thought up over these past few dreary months. It would be wise to have a time of reflection on these matters so the various ideas as to what needs to be done can be intelligent and for our benefit. Therefore, I will be excusing you for a recess until 5:00 P.M., which should be more than enough time for you to sort out your possibly muddled thoughts into some form of coherent sensical whimsy. Good- bye, I will see you all later."  
  
There was a great scruffling of papers as all the leaders and wise peoples gathered their notes together for further discussion. Some groups, such as the Korean emperor and empress, arranged a sub-meeting to represent all viewpoints in the best way. This, of course, didn't apply to the sylphs simply because of their abilities to think individualistically as one. Harry was possibly the first to leave the room, as he needed to spend some serious time in the library.  
  
He went directly to the shelf that he needed, and pulled several books from its contents. He walked over to a table, arms laden with heavy tomes of past war accounts, and let them fall to the table with a decidedly louder- than-is-usual thunk. He shivered in embarrassment, hoping that Mme. Pince's eyes would not be on him for the rest of the night. However, it was not her shrewd gaze that followed his form as he sat down at the table. It was Snape's.  
  
It is needless to say that his period of thoughtful study was not for a Hogwarts paper. Snape had left the room, under the notice of Nikiatom, as soon as he had realized that Harry was permanently positioned at the table for the remainder of the afternoon. With a brief glance at the titles of Harry's choice of material (Separation: the Key to the Grey Wizards; Wizarding Class Structure for Muggles; A Review of the Divisionary Period; The Book of Why and How the Feud Started and Still Carries On; and The Great Castes of History), Nikiatom decided that it was his job to lend a hand to the monarch he had grown fond of.  
  
"Na lye lha lom golodh? Nikiatom asked. (What art thou learning?)  
  
le we moth nole?"  
  
"Kano gelydh edain sinda-eva. Harry answered, not looking up from the tome spread gon noldo atani mith." over the table. (Of the commanders of the wise Grey Wizards.)  
  
"Im tir-lye? Nikiatom offered. (May I help you?) le?"  
  
"Nai." Harry agreed. (May it be.)  
  
The two unlikely companions sat together, each poring over the five books. One drew all students' eyes, while the other was barely noticed. They drew the eyes of Mme. Pince, who could not for the life of her figure what it was they had to study. The meetings were so secret that she had no idea what went on in them; neither did she know that their meetings were rushed for fear of spies. Of course, there should be no implication that she was a few wits shorter than a half-wit. She was quite intelligent, and, as most intelligent women tended to do in the early fifties when she had been growing up, she was a librarian for good reason. She had read every book in the Hogwarts library at least twice, and that was nothing to scoff at.  
  
There were, as was earlier demonstrated, so few correct books on the sylvan way of life that she was almost completely unknowledgeable of their form of the Council. Accurate resources were few and far between, or written in a language she couldn't read. All in all, she knew of about two books on sylphs other than those written in English, and one was Chinese and the other in Khuzdul*. She was not only studying them, but trying to figure out if they were crossdressers or if what they wore was sylvan tradition. She tended to lean toward the latter. Of course, that was the least of her worries and/or musings.  
  
Mme. Pince was forced to look away when a very flustered Hermione came flouncing into the library. She quickly dropped off her books in the return bin, then went over to the shelves, book bag slung over her shoulder, filled with homework to be done. She very nearly immediately located the two sylphs reading quietly at a table semi-close to the back of the library, and decided it was her place to join them.  
  
"Hello," she greeted in a whisper, "this is something we haven't done in a while." Harry smiled at her in greeting. "Don't mind me; I know you're researching for the Council of the Races, I'll just work quietly with you."  
  
Nikiatom noticed Hermione give a sidelong glance to the titles of their books. The moment of curiosity was over quickly, and she soon had some Potions homework out. Harry was, by now, thoroughly engrossed in his study.  
  
The Grey Wizards are a band of rebel wizards who led themselves away from the High Wizards in the early thirteenth century. They had originally been of Celtic origin, but have since wandered nomadically everywhere from Japan to the Americas. Not much is known about them since their break from civilized society, as they do not share much of their history and customs with those who are not directly involved in their secretive ways.  
  
Harry quickly skimmed the page, and found that nothing else was mentioned about them. He turned to the index, and found he was on they only page that recognized them in the whole book. That wasn't enough, so he closed it, shelved it, and took out another of the books he had chosen.  
  
It would be hard to recount the knowledge he and Nikiatom gained that afternoon in a brief fashion, so not much will be said about it. Know just that crucial evidence was given them that the Clan of the Grey Wizards had their own ideas about how to go about getting themselves and the world rid of Lord Voldemort.  
  
* * *  
  
"We have come together with one common purpose; to banish You-Know-Who from this earth forever. As of yet, we have not looked at courses of action to fulfill this immediate desire of ours. Now is the time to come forward, speak for your people, and speak your ideas on just what needs to be done. We will not be able to agree on everything, nor will we entertain only one idea today, but in the end we must choose one, and disregard all imperfect plans. To make this terrible choice, it is evident that we will need to combine the ideas of several great minds that are, luckily enough, gathered here in this room." Mr. Weasley looked up and searched the faces of his council, then sat and allowed the first volunteer to speak.  
  
"I'll start." The Veela Countess said, as if no other plans would be necessary. "It starts with the building and training of troops of wizards to assist the Veela Guard-"  
  
"I thought you said the Veela Guard had been slaughtered, madame?" The Fairy Queen asked innocently.  
  
"Right, I did, but there are other Veela trained in the way of the guard, and some that have already been trained, retired, you know, but anyway, on with my point. These Veela soldiers would train the wizards to fight in their style, whilst the real action was going on. A small band of twenty Veela spies would have set out on a boat to Vietnam, where they would locate the citadel by searching through all the jungles of Asia, and when they have found it, they will burn their way back, creating a path to the citadel. The troops that have been training will be alerted immediately and they will march to the citadel and bring it and You-Know-Who down forever." The Veela Countess sat back, looking rather pleased with herself. The rest of the council stared at her in horror. It was the rather direct Fairy Queen who was the first to dare speak.  
  
"You may not have realized this, but burning a path from the Dark Lord's citadel to Vietnam might not be the best idea in the world because a) we would never be able to grow back the vegetation and it is therefore not environmentally sound, and b) you would be leaving a trail straight to your troops so they could attack you by surprise any bloody time they wanted."  
  
"I agree with the Queen," The Chieftan of the Merpeople added, a look of seething tension in his black eyes. "But there is another thing that you have forgotten. It will take several long months to reach Vietnam by boat even with proper motors. By the time your 'small crew of twenty Veelan soldiers' arrives, You-Know-Who will have been able to destroy half the continent of Europe. And, it will be hard to get enough food and water at the right places because soldiers, at least Veelan ones, tend to eat a lot, and you'll be in the middle of the ocean!"  
  
"In defense of this plan, I would just like to say that it is possible to use magic to get more food and water-" The Korean empress of magic started, but she quickly faded off, as she saw Eldrid wanted to speak.  
  
"But the more magic you use for things like gathering food, the less magic you are using to keep your actions hidden from spies. The less magic you are using for stealth purposes, the more attention you can draw to yourelf. The more food you take, the more suspicious the other side will become, and eventually it would fail." He explained.  
  
There was silence in the room. Finally, the dwarf lady took the moment to speak.  
  
"There is one good thing about this plan that we must look at. Before big battles are fought, there would be a small group sent out to find the citadel. That, at least, is a good idea. Maybe, perhaps we could have a smaller group, say somewhere around ten people, but the idea is rather like the one that Draelf and I have been harboring. Would you like to explain it?"  
  
"Of course." Draelf cleared his throat. "We had been thinking that we could send a small group of two dwarves out into the jungles to find the citadel and spy on the dark lord and his minions there. They, once in clear view of the Dark Tower, could alert an army on hold in Bulgaria who would then march to the tower and take it."  
  
"How would the dwarves be in communication?" Mr. Weasley asked.  
  
"With owls, as is wizards' custom. It is the fastest and safest way to communicate in these days." The dwarf lady answered.  
  
"One of the problems that I can see is simply this; dwarves are rather noticeable. They are not of the same stature, appearance, or voice as a human. The Death Eaters and spies would be very suspicious of you, especially if every member of the first company were dwarves. They would draw too much attention to themselves." The Fairy Queen added.  
  
"And another thing." Professor Dumbledore joined in. "It would be dangerous to try and get the troops through Asia. It would raise suspicions of not only the dark side, but also the Muggles of the area. We cannot have an army at the ready."  
  
"What you do not know is that part of the reason the Dark Lord would have chosen Asia to set up his citadel is that it is simply so hard to get to that he wouldn't think of an outright attack, mostly because it is almost impossible to navigate. If a party were to be sent, they would have to have a trained guide with them. We, of course, could provide this." The Korean empress of magic stated, a long gaze in her eyes as though Seeing something.  
  
"We have, so far, decided that before we can take further action, we must find the citadel. Of course, the number of people in the group and who exactly they will be comprised of remains to be seen; perhaps we should hear another plan." Mr. Weasley suggested.  
  
"Have you any ideas, Chieftan?" The Fairy Queen asked.  
  
"As a matter of fact, I have." The merman shifted in his Pensieve. "We would, of course, first need to find the tower. Then, we'd send a band of wizards to the hideout to take it over. There, they would kill off You-Know- Who and take the Death Eaters hostage. Then, one by one, the Death Eaters would be led to the coasts of Japan and China, where a platoon of mermaids and sirens would seduce them into the water, and a second band made of mermen would drown them." There was a meekness in his eyes that belied a voice of confidence.  
  
"This plan seems like it would work." The Veela Countess drawled.  
  
"I would volunteer to be the seeker of the hideout." The Fairy Queen said, wanting to be involved.  
  
"I can see one problem." The Korean Emperor of Magic began, as he looked at his hands. "How would we kill off You-Know-Who?"  
  
"That," the Veela Countess sneered, "is a minor detail." Triskele realized she wasn't very accepting toward darker skinned races.  
  
"As you put it, a "minor detail" that could ruin the whole outlook of this scheme." Dumbledore said, a twinkle alight in his eyes.  
  
"How many wizards would be needed?" Arthur queried, quill and parchment at the ready.  
  
"About five." The chieftan remarked.  
  
"How many of your people?"  
  
"Around one hundred."  
  
"One hundred! That sounds a little unbalanced!" Draelf exclaimed.  
  
"That is how many are needed, including backup." The Chieftan calmly responded.  
  
"You just want attention for your people!" The Veela Countess accused. "You don't want to share the limelight!"  
  
"I never said that!"  
  
"I'm saying it!"  
  
"Perhaps you shouldn't say as much!" The Fairy Queen retorted.  
  
"You, Chieftan, are far too selfish, and think you are far too important." The Dwarf Lady commented.  
  
"And what is wrong with believing my people are important? Not once in the history of wizards have we been recognized for what we do for you and your subjects! We have prevented entire wars by sinking the enemy before they could attack by surprise. We keep the waters free, and no one realizesit. We deserve to be recognized!"  
  
"What about my people?" the Fairy Queen screamed. "Not once have we been remembered! Everyone here secretly believes that these affairs are too big for us to fully comprehend. IN order to do anything, we have to volunteer for it! Well, that's all fine and good up till a point, but a little credit would go a long way."  
  
"You're here, aren't you? That should be recognition enough!" The Veela Countess had a spasm going off in her eye.  
  
"For the amount of good I'm doing I may as well not be!"  
  
"QUIET!" Mr. Weasley shouted.  
  
Everyone was silent. Dumbledore stood.  
  
"There is clearly much bias in this room. Each of us wants to have all the glory. That is why the decision must fall upon the one group of people without any ties to the situation. The decision will be that of the sylphs." Dumbledore nodded at them. There were several muffled agreements from around the room. "Harry, the stand is yours."  
  
Harry rose to his full diminuitive height and cleared his throat. "The meeting will not resume tomorrow, nor any other time for that matter. The less people know in this situation, the less chance there is for spies. In that light, each of us will write a letter to each of you, telling you what to do to help the plan, but you will not have knowledge of what the others are going to do. Expect your letters tomorrow by dinner. We are dismissed."  
  
As everyone gathered their things together in a flurry of papers, the sylphs shared one glance and knew exactly what it was they wanted-needed-to do.  
  
* * *  
  
To the Veela Countess (Briguette),  
  
You will take your people and make a new Veelan Guard. After you have done this, you will send them to the other countries of Europe to gather all information that they can. When you have more information, you will report it to me, Amadeus. Of course, the veela in your guard will be obliged to do whatever they can for our side, and try to keep the people of these assorted countries safe. This may not seem that important, but it is one of the critical jobs of this war.  
  
Another task that has been laid on your shoulders is that of an escort. A ship will be leaving it's port in Saint-Nazaire, France with a small band of wizards and witches bound for Brazil. We think it wise to have veelan protection and escort along the way, so that any spies for Lord Voldemort will not think it that odd.  
  
Thank you for your cooperation, Amadeus  
  
* * *  
  
To the Chieftan of the Merpeople,  
  
You will form a platoon of assorted mermaids, mermen, selkies, and sirens to spy along the coasts of both Asia and South America. A ship will be leaving from the port of Saint-Nazaire, France, bound for Brazil. It is imperative that this ship make it to South America, and as it is such a tradition for your people to protect ships at sea, it will be only natural that you do it one more time. Your task may seem small, but it is very great. Do it well.  
  
Thank you, Lemagne  
  
* * *  
  
To the Fairy Queen,  
  
You offered your help in the jungles of Asia, and it was not forgotten. There will be a small group sent to South America as well, and we would like a fairy spy to be with each. It is your job to select the two you think would be best suited, and to keep track of all information taken by the Veela Countess. This last task will require a third group of spies, and the hardest to obtain. She had us thinking many things at the Council meetings, and one of which was that her actions should be watched. Send at least ten fairy spies to her mansion in France, and we should be covered. You have got a place in the history of this time period at least, and if you are forgotten among big people, it is only because they are too pig- headed to understand your culture.  
  
Thank you for your volunteering, Lemagne  
  
* * *  
  
To the Korean Emperor and Empress of Magic,  
  
You have a great role to play in the great operation that is this quest. Your people are amazing in the natural jungles and forests of the region, and their knowledge of the area matches none other. There will be a band of selected allies in Asia to pursue the great task of finding and killing Lord Voldemort. We, of course, have no right to claim that we do not need guides and that we are completely adequate on our own. We will need a trained team of your choice to guide us. The allies will arrive in Mokpo sometime in late June, and the password will be cordially sent to you at a later date. This task is honorable, like your people, and fits you well.  
  
With all my respect, Eldrid  
  
* * *  
  
Dear Draelf and her Ladyship,  
  
Your task in this war is a noble one. We will be setting up an army in Ireland, where they will have to be trained. We will have a sylvan martial artist teach half of the regime, but the other half will be completely different. In order to have contrast in our fighting style, we need someone that is very ground oriented and stable to teach the other half, and that will be your task. You will supply us with two great warriors to teach this army, as we alone would have no idea how to go about it.  
  
Another thing that has come to our attention is the great craftsmanship of your kind. We will, of course, be needing weapons. It is your duty to supply them. In a few months a list of all those interested will be sent to you, and we'll work from there.  
  
Thank you for your time and talents, Triskele  
  
* * *  
  
To the English Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley,  
  
It is now time for you to learn of our plans for the end of the war. A group of wizards will be assembled together to fight with the Dark Lord in his citadel. That is, first they have to find it. It is imperative that you know this, but not imperative that you know who they are. Names don't really matter that much. What we need you to do is assemble five of your best Aurors together as well as five of your best Unspeakables, and we will choose them from there. One of each of these groups will go to the jungles of Asia, the second two to the rainforests of South America. The ones going to Asia will leave from Swansea, Wales as soon as possible. The others will leave for South America from Saint-Nazare, France sometime in late June.  
  
We will also be gathering together an army in Ireland. The weaponry will be provided by the dwarves, and there will be sylvan trainers and dwarven trainers to teach fighting basics. It is your duty to get the word out in a discreet way that will not let Lord Voldemort and his minions catch wind of it. Be as secretive as you know how. You will also have to negotiate with Ireland for a place to work. You know how to go about such matters, so I will not have to go into great detail.  
  
The army will be dispatched to Hogwarts one day for a final battle. The exact date of this battle will be given to you at a later date. After the battle, you will have a group of Aurors at the ready to arrest all the stunned Death Eaters. They will, thereafter, be taken to Azkaban. There, they will undergo a test by the sylph named Eldrid. After Eldrid has figured whom was guilty, those who are guilty will be given the Dementor's Kiss.  
  
Keep an eye out for the Slytherin murders as of late, they should not be forgotten.  
  
Thank you for your efforts, Harry  
  
* * *  
  
To Professor Dumbledore,  
  
The movements within England and the politics of this war are as follows;  
  
One group of spies will be sent to South America to help the people there and build an army. We would like to request that you get together the old crowd and ask for volunteers on this journey. A second journey will be more perilous. It will take place in Asia, and two of the members of the old crowd are required for it. Suggest this alternative to them and tell me who has decided to do what.  
  
An army will be training in Ireland, and it would be beneficial if some of the seventh years would be sent to the camp to do things like cook and clean and, if they really want to, join it and fight for the side of light. They will need recommendation by a teacher to participate, and will finish their courses on the field with a learned wizard/witch of your choice. Send in the names for us when you can.  
  
The plan is that, on a specified day, all residents of Hogwarts who can not fight for themselves will be evacuated. Then, it will be your task to take down the protective barriers around the school. The Death Eaters will swarm in, but we'll be ready and waiting. None shall die, all will be Stupefied. Then, they will be arrested by a band of Aurors that are handy, and taken to Azkaban, where they will all be given the Dementor's Kiss. Before they receive the kiss, however, they will be viewed by the sylph named Eldrid and tried through telepathy and Searching.  
  
Watch your Slytherin girls, they may have an important part to play in this war.  
  
With all my gratitude, Harry  
  
* * *  
  
To Sirius and Charlie,  
  
I need to meet with you. In fact, I need to meet with all of your people. Can you gather them from the eight corners of the earth by January 17th, the next year? I will meet with them on the Northern island of the Scottish Outer Hebrides. It is too dangerous to explain what will be done in this letter, for fear of interception. All will be explained on that date.  
  
Thank you, I know this is semi-late notice, Harry  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Wow, this took me a lot less time than I thought it would. Again, I'm on a new writing regime. I'm very proud of myself. I know that perhaps some things haven't clicked together yet, but they will eventually. That is, eventually as in not that soon, near the end. I know, I'm an evil writer. Sorry! It'll only make the end more exciting.  
  
To my reviewers:  
  
Anar: Here's more!  
  
bluevanna: Nope, no Harry/Draco. I don't know, maybe it will turn up, but not until the very end. The length of time between this chapter and the last is about how often I'll be updating. I'm writing more weekly then I used to, and it is starting to pay off.  
  
tima: I still have absolutely no idea who Harry will end up with, but it's starting to come to me . . .  
  
The Eternal Firesinger: Yay! You know about fairy and faery as well! I feel appreciated! I loved reading your review, it made me feel all special. I admit that I always thought that Harry should have more grace, and this was an awesome way to realistically change him in my mind. It feels good to know that someone liked how I did it. There might be slash later, I'm sort of figuring that out now . . .  
  
Jordan: Yes, the missing sylph is with Voldemort. I don't intend to stop writing this any time soon.  
  
Sashi: You noticed many of the mistakes that I made in jumping around and all that and such, and I know how frustrating it is to want to have to write notes on a story being read for fun because it's hard to follow. I'm going to rewrite it once I'm finished, as all authors do, to correct a lot of what I think doesn't make sense or isn't explained well enough. Thank you for the criticism.  
  
jenn: Soon enough?  
  
* This is another Tolkien language that I do not own. In comparison with his works, this is nothing but a drop in the bucket (if you'll excuse the cliché.) I will, in my own time, write my own version of sylvan (Tolkien touched on the language he called sylvan), but in the mean time, his versions will have to suffice. 


	14. Chapter 14: Interludes in War and Spies

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story might include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Until I can finish writing the sylvan language, I will be force to use the closest thing to it; J.R.R. Tolkien's elvish. Please understand that I didn't write it, or else I'd be much more financially endowed than I currently am. Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
Chapter 14: Interludes in War and Spies  
  
Sirius woke in the morning, Charlie shaking him awake after his late shift. Sirius opened his eyes to the cool morning light, and quickly got up from his position on the ground. Without saying anything to each other, they had gathered their things, spread the ashes and coals from the fire, neatly brushing away any signs that they had spent the night in the small grotto, put their boots on and were off to another border.  
  
It was not that clear, and they could tell that a storm was on its way to them. They hunched under their grey cloaks, knowing that no one, Muggle or magical, would see them. It was their training as such that they could walk, cloaked in grey, through muggle London and not be noticed. Their powers of disguise were truly amazing, as though they were the human counterpart to chameleons. They were the hardest to track, and the swiftest to travel unheard. Though they had no invisibility cloaks, they didn't really have need of them, for they were unnoticed without. They rarely spoke to one another, and when they did, it was normally on what path to take through the forest or chatter about politics and tasks they would need to complete to create peace in the end. It was hard work, being one of the Clan of the Grey Wizards, and took some getting used to. As new recruits, they were not given the hardest of jobs. However, it was true that they had need of the swords and daggers they carried.  
  
Sirius bent down to observe their path. He found quite a few leaves turned over the wrong way, but this was not what he was supposed to notice. One of those leaves had a caking of mud on it, but only in a small jagged pattern like that of the sole of an army boot. Charlie bent to look as well.  
  
"This path has been traveled, and not by one of our folk." Charlie said, glancing at Sirius. Sirius nodded in concurrence.  
  
"We should watch our tongues as well as what we do. It would not be pleasant if we were found out right away." He said, and the young Weasley agreed quickly. "If we have to we should change our path, so as not to be found by someone who may be tipped off."  
  
They stood and started down the path again. Conversation was scarce, but when they did speak, it was nothing out of the ordinary or strange. They were merely travelers, at least to anyone who didn't know them. Thought turned to Bill, whom they would be meeting at the closest wizarding town, and that was Venesia.  
  
The French countryside was not all that striking; rather, it was quite like the English countryside that they were used to. This was perhaps a good thing, for they couldn't be distracted in what they were doing. It was a strange phenomenon that they were meeting the oldest Weasley child, and that the younger Weasley would be more the adult in this situation. It was able to make him feel much older and wiser than his past twenty-nine years. As a young boy, it had never occurred to him that he'd be in this situation; he had always looked up to Bill with the deepest respect. Bill had always been the smart one of the pair. After all, he had been Head Boy. What Charlie didn't know was that Bill had looked up to him as well. Brains got him a long way, but his adventurous spirit had always clashed with the fact that he was never really any good at athletics, as Charlie was. After all, Charlie had been Quidditch captain.  
  
Sirius, however, was thinking about totally different aspects of his life, mainly, the present one. He didn't know what it was that he was needed to do, but he also knew that he wasn't a part of the Clan for no reason at all. Direction is always a hard thing to find when there is no leader, as was the current situation. He supposed that eventually they would find a replacement for Dunhall, but things would not be the same. It was strange to think that he was actually beginning to miss the slightly surly, quiet leader. They had barely spoken, why was it that this loss was weighing down on him so? Good leadership is always a hard thing to have to take over after. No doubt the person who had to do so would seem empty, somewhat shallow. He knew he was a long throw from next in line, and that he would not be called upon, but the fact was that he was terrified his position would suddenly be upped. He had made rash and dangerous decisions in his youth; he was not about to subject people to that again.  
  
Surely, he thought, surely they would have some ideas about my past? Lily was, after all, an adopted Clan member. They would have watched her grow from afar, would they not? And if they had watched Lily, they would have known James, and if they had known James, surely they had known Sirius Black?  
  
It had always struck him as strange how they had accepted him without any regard whatsoever to his past and 'murder.' It was almost as if they had been waiting for the High Wizards to realize how stupid they had been to think he would actually kill his best friend. And after he was freed, it was almost as if they had been waiting for him to come to them. He found it terribly odd that they didn't bat an eyelash at his entrance into their world. He supposed that, as they were a very secretive kind of people, that he would never really know what it was that led them to the convincing that he was a wrongly accused man before even Harry had known. Perhaps that was just the way they reacted to the changes in life. They were more calculating even than McGonagall at her best, so it really shouldn't have surprised him.  
  
The trees were coming to a thinning, and after them they could see a field of wheat. It was eerie, to see the acres of this plant, and not to see a human for miles. Charlie inconspicuously grabbed a handfull of the stuff, knowing that whoever owned such a huge field would not miss it. They waded through it, looking all the while for signs of life, or at least a road. It was after a half an hour of blank wandering that they first saw the smoke. It was starting to grow cold, the overcast weather making the fall day nearly frigid. They knew it was not a fire in the field, for it was far too trained for it to be like that. They knew it had to have come from either a magical fire or a chimney. They also knew that where there were people, there were roads. Of course, the roads in this area were not bound to be very good at all, as they were trying to keep Muggles away. Just in case it was a house of Muggles who were related to wizards/witches, they decided it wasn't the best to follow the smoke. They could end up in a stickier situation than they were counting on being in.  
  
Presently, they came to a road that wasn't paved and seemed just to meander on it's own way toward Venesia. Charlie and Sirius decided that they may as well just walk the road, it wasn't likely that they'd run into anyone, judging by the condition of the road. One thing that did catch their attention were the deep wagon ruts in the road. Neither had really ever been to France before, and had they been, they wouldn't have been half as observant as they were now. Training as a member of the Clan of the Grey Wizards had many advantages. They made mental notes to look for the owner of such a possible carriage. It was their knowledge that it would have had to be someone of wealthy stature, and they were not always sure that the aristocrats were that trustworthy. In their esteem, aristocrats were not to be trusted simply because they didn't need to be cautious, as they had so much that losing a little would be hardly irreplaceable. They would have to be very careful if the wagon was headed to the same place they were.  
  
They finally reached a great stone gate and looked for a knocker. There was no need to do so, for they were caught unaware by a small circular hole being uncovered and a blue eye staring out at them.  
  
"What do you want?" The person, who was a gruff old man, asked irritably.  
  
"We wish to spend a few nights in the pub called Vendredi Rouges. Would you mind terribly much letting us in?" Sirius answered as politely as he could.  
  
"What buiseeness 'ave you 'ere?" The eye narrowed in suspicion.  
  
"We are meeting my brother here. Bill Weasley. Can you check if he's come?"  
  
"What does zis brothair looke like?" The eye was almost shut by now.  
  
"He's got long flaming hair the same color of mine and a fang in his ear. You'd know him if you saw him." Charlie described, trying not to give much away.  
  
"Well, I thiink I can say to you eempertinent Engelish typese that I 'ave not seen such a person iin my life-tyme. Be off with you!"  
  
"But we have to stay here! We told him to meet us here, and we can't contact him to tell him that we won't be meeting him here; he was traveling from Egypt, he could be anywhere!" Charlie exclaimed, aghast.  
  
"I advise you to keep bettair track of zis brothair you speak of."  
  
"We just want to be let in; we won't cause you any harm." Sirius said, grinding his teeth.  
  
"Zat iis not a very appealing sound to my ears, sank you. And I can not let you iin!"  
  
"Why not?" He asked, closing his eyes and rolling them behind his lids. Charlie gave a look of caution to the old man; it was never good to make Sirius impatient.  
  
"You aare wearing grey!"  
  
Sirius felt the warning bells go off in his mind. Charlie glanced at him. This man perhaps wasn't speaking clearly.  
  
"What was your answer?" Charlie asked, his eyes squinting slightly.  
  
"I said, you aare wearing grey!"  
  
"What does our dress have to do with anything?" Sirius murmured, a low tone to his voice that should have been a signal to the wrangling gatekeeper that he was insulted.  
  
"Well, I need to know, aare you one of . . . zem?"  
  
"One of who?" Sirius asked. "Explain it to me like I'm a small child."  
  
"Iit iis 'ard to see anyvone wearing grey as a small child. Zey aare killin' us iin strange ways. Do you 'old company wit zem?"  
  
"We are but poor travelers on the road, trying to get into a good inn to pass the time until my brother can join us. We mean no harm; in fact, where we come from, grey is quite the fashionable color. I would have thought the French would have known that." Charlie cut in hurriedly before Sirius could say something to worsen their situation.  
  
"I suppose zat lett-iing you iin wouldn't 'sactly be, as you Eenglish typse say, lettin' myself out o' ze frying pan and iinto ze fire." The blue eye took one more look at the two worn men, before he opened the great door.  
  
They were immediately reminded of the Veela they had seen in the past. Of course, he was far older and far fouler than the Veela they had observed; he was also male, and they had only seen women. His hair was pale and fell in a waterfall of grease to his ears, where it fanned out away from his head. His nose was gnarled as an old bulbous growth on a tree, and they saw immediately that his other eye had a scar running through it, and an opaque sheen over the original cornflower iris and dark pupil. He was wearing a dirty brown coat, that seemed to fall more about his stooped figure like a cloak than the once-fine leather it was made from. His pants were stained blue jeans, telling of his social standing and financial position. He had stained teeth and a smell of not-quite-fine ale about his breath. When he next spoke, they saw his teeth were as crooked and broken as his countenance, but that they were not totally rotting away. His hood was drawn to protect him from the threatening weather, but he did not need the lantern they could see was in his small alcolve nearby.  
  
"Zese aare strange times, you can never be too caareful. I lost me eye to a man wearing grey, or at leest vat I thought was a man, 'e kept 'is hood up. So you can see, I thiink, where I came from in asking you." He had turned his back to them and was headed toward the hut. "Be glad of your pretty faces; iin zis country you may lose them."  
  
After this strange encounter, they followed the sounds of clicking boots on the cobblestone road out to the square. The activities of the French people seemed to go on much as they would normally, but there was a hint of grey in their speech, and laughter was quickly silenced. Two little girls raced past them, nearly knocking into them, but neither took notice. There was one simple thing that they could tell from the crowd, and it was simply this; nothing was as it seemed.  
  
It would look, to anyone left untrained in the way that such people as they were, this looked like a joyful town. The market held fresh items of curiosity. The children chased each other around the ankles of the adults, their toys painted in bright colors and laughter in the eyes. They watched the women laugh at the gossip of the day, and the men get passionate over such things as who had the best gnome-protection system. Merchants who had their goods on display were shouting loudly above the crowd why exactly their particular products were better than the others of supposed "lesser quality."  
  
What was only recognizable to those who knew to look for it was the simple fact that underlying all this perfect happiness and normalcy, there was a sense of fear. Whenever someone took to laughter, it was stifled quickly by a hand over the mouth and silenced, even if it did continue. The adults were not speaking loudly, and the merchants yelling in their stands had only to speak slightly above a normal voice to be heard. The children were the only genuine things in this entire populace of witches and wizards. All this was obvious at once to the two Grey Wizards, and they walked through the crowd, checking prices and quality of the goods they found of interest, the truth they found not forgotten but not acted upon.  
  
Everywhere they went, people gave them glances out of the corners of their eyes, little suspicions of things that they dare not say aloud. Sirius knew that the people of this town had seen some kind of grief; he knew that they were aware of people who wore the grey that was their uniform. Short glimpses of the two spies were not spoken of, but they were thought about. A witch discussing the price of dragon heartstring with another witch saw them and quickly turned her head back to her conversation. And older man who was playing Bellot with two gambling partners saw them, then went back to the hazy smoke of his pipe.  
  
They went from booth to booth, looking at the pottery they may find there, the food, the magical instruments. Sirius picked up a wooden flute, turning it over in his hands. He set it down again. Perhaps he'd buy it tomorrow. Charlie picked up an odd little ocarina and put it almost to his lips, fingers flying in a pattern and rhythm a gypsy taught him. He smiled and bought it. At the next stand, Sirius found a mortar and pestle. It had an anti-breakable charm on it, and it was made of a fine blue clay, glazed a brightly dark blue on the outside and left white on the inside. The pestle remained unglazed. It was small, and fit right into the palm of his hand. He made a quick decision to buy it, knowing that this more than most other things would help him in his study of herbs and other medicenes. Charlie looked at the stacks of herbs with mild curiosity. It was common knowledge that he was hopeless with any kind of potion or herb. He was not old enough to have escaped Snape as a teacher. They each bought an apple or two at the next stand, along with some vegetables that they knew they would eventually need on the road. Sirius had no need for the charms that the next stand held, but his heart had been taken long ago by tragedy. Charlie found a lavender rock trapped in a world of silver on a black string. He grinned to himself and bought it. It would be a good way to woo a certain shield maiden's heart. Sirius smiled at him. It had been a long time since he had bought a necklace for his love.  
  
"Charlie?" A female voice called through the crowd.  
  
Charlie looked up.  
  
"Charlie Weasley?"  
  
Charlie turned just in time to see a blonde head duck itself down and start walking toward him. It was a girl that was a thing of the past; a beauty with silver hair and a body that would make women jealous and men lustful; he remembered her vaguely from a day in the past, a long time ago. At least, what seemed a long time ago.  
  
"What kiend of aniimals do you work with?"  
  
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." Charlie answered, looking up from polishing his dirty boots. It had been a half an hour after Hagrid's last Care of Magical Creatures class had left for the day.  
  
"And vy not?"  
  
"Because of a little thing called the rules, that's what." He tried to ignore her. It didn't work.  
  
"I caan not see what iit iis you thiink will 'elp by not telling me-eh."  
  
"You have a terrible accent, you know that, right?"  
  
"I am workiing on iit, sank you." The girl batted her eyes at him, her hands innocently behind her back, toe kicking at the sod under her feet. "Per'aps you could 'elp me?"  
  
"I am not interested, thank you." He had caught her innuendoes in his fist.  
  
"'Ow can you not bee? I know many men 'oo would kiil to be offaired zat chance. What iis so different about you?" She sounded honestly curious.  
  
"Do you realize how arrogant you sound? Do you?"  
  
"I am not arrrogant! Do you know 'ow modest you're being?"  
  
"I told you; I can't talk to you; it's against regulations."  
  
Charlie shook himself back to the present; it had been two years since he had seen this girl-well, he supposed she was a woman now. He was surprised she had even remembered him.  
  
"Hello, Ms. Delacour."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed a group of people glaring at Fleur.  
  
"Call me Fleur, please."  
  
"Your English has improved." Charlie noted.  
  
"Yes, I told you I would get better at it, but you didn't listen to me."  
  
"I was a bit irritated with you at the time."  
  
Fleur laughed; it was a rolling sound, and Charlie had to grudgingly admit that it was charming, rather than what he would have figured it to be; shrill and annoying.  
  
"You were always so blunt. I think that might have been what made me remember you. You were the only man that wasn't fooled by my veela charm." She paused a moment. "What are you doing here? And in grey as well?" She eyed Sirius up, trying to remember where she had seen him.  
  
"I was innocent." He said simply. Recognition flared in her eyes.  
  
"Let's talk inside." She said, glancing around at the suspicious crowd.  
  
"Where inside?" Sirius asked.  
  
"I own an inn, the Vendredi Rouges. We should be safe from eavesdroppers there." She turned and led them through the town.  
  
Houses closed their shutters as they walked past, people continued to give them strange looks, and they felt extremely conspicuous. The small streets of Vemesia. They had small alleys twisting off of them all over the place, and cats had invaded them. They finally came to a run-down, thin building, the sign of which painted with a fading green paint, with flowing, faded red letters spelling out "The Vendredi Rouges." The door was framed with red woodwork, and red window bracings. The bracings and decorative wood had just been repainted, and the sign looked odd next to them. Fleur turned the doorknob and walked in. It was dark inside, like most wizards' buildings, lit only by windows and dim torches. There was a big book sitting on a podium, with a quill sitting next to it. There was no one at the front desk at the moment, and Fleur looked questioningly at the two men.  
  
"We're meeting my brother Bill here. We had been trying to find this place ever since we came into the city." Charlie quickly explained their business.  
  
"Right." Fleur went behind the desk and dipped the quill in the ink. She scribbled something into the book, then put a ribbon back in to mark her place, set the quill back in the ink bottle and came toward them, indicating a small doorway behind her. She immediately put a silencing and stifling charm on the room, so as not to be bothered. They took the hint and followed her.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry dipped his quill in his ink, and scrolled across the page in spidery, yet easy-to-read writing.  
  
You Are Wanted!  
  
All those seventh year students who would like to be able to do something instead of study for their NEWTs are wanted to sign up for the sylvan and dwarvish training regime! A plan against You-Know-Who has been drafted, and it calls for military action. However, as our number of willing allies grows thin, we will need volunteers of the wizarding type to be trained by certain delegates from dwarvish and sylvan backgrounds. There will be a short meeting on November the 21st about what exactly enlistees will be going through. All Hogwarts seventh year material will be gone over at the training camp, and you will count toward graduation. We need those of you who are slightly interested to sign your name below in the provided space. Further information will be mailed to you within the next week of your enlistment. It is not permanent. You can back out at the last moment. Come to the informational meet on November 21st for more details. There is one bit of information that will be given to you now, and it is this; you will be traveling outside the country. If you do not have both a muggle and wizarding passport, you will need to report to Mr. Percivald Weasley in the International Cooperation of Wizards department of the Ministry of Magic. When you sign up, please indicate which type of fighting you would like to learn under.  
  
Thank you for your cooperation, Liamh, Monarch to the Sylphs  
  
Harry checked it over for errors in spelling and/or grammar. He couldn't find any, and quickly got up from his chair. He didn't fold it, rather let it flap loosely at his side as he walked briskly from the room. The parts of his hair that were down blew behind him as his steps carried him to the bulletin boards where the students had signed up for the Dueling Club back in his second year. First he travelled to the Gryffindor Common Room, where the overly large lady let him in with a giggle. After he left, she ran out of her frame to visit her friend, Violet. Harry had made three copies and went to the other Common Rooms. After all these were distributed, he went back to the sylvan area of the castle. He greeted Triskele as she passed him, and smiled. He went out to the small balcony they had, knowing that Nikiatom had followed him.  
  
"Le arato denie Lumenn eth Harry said to him. (You are the champion of lament. lin nainie. Ngwaw et." The hour draws on.)  
  
"Tari iaur pata nazg guin-mene macar Nikiatom answered. (The queen of bereth iar bad cor cui-mene vagor." swordsmen lives for a thousand years.)  
  
"Le tul bragol si morgul Harry told him. (You will summon her sorcery soon.) cu talian gul."  
  
"Im utuv-uva yes Nikiatom pledged. (I will find it done.) hir n-ithri."  
  
Harry smiled, teeth glistening in the light. Nikiatom's hair shone in the light of the sun like white gold. They stood together a long while, neither saying anything to the other. It was simple and pure; the emotional support. Harry looked out over the same lands that had been his only home for so long. There was not one thing different. There were the same plants outside Hagrid's hut; the same birds flew in the sky, the same forboding forest, brooding on the edge of the grounds, the same dog, Fang, running around after something, the same figure practicing on the Quidditch pitch . . . The figure. Harry snapped out of his daze, quickly backing up and looking around.  
  
"Raen Si?" Nikiatom asked. (Leaving? Now?) ran?  
  
"Im nev tel faroth mando Harry stuttered, turning around. (I need to finish dil dur nil nur mbando." a friend's prison.)  
  
Nikiatom let Harry go, knowing that this was important. He no longer flitted about the halls carelessly. He was determined, his face serious and his jaw set. Students that had a pass out of class stared at him and hurriedly got out of his way. His bare feet would have surely made resounding noises against the ancient stonework had they been shoed. He felt a slight chill as he walked, and pulled his fall cloak tighter around his shoulders. He passed a hurrying McGonagall on his way to the front doors of the castle, but he didn't wave, and neither did she. He got to the front doors and flung them open, not bothering whether the whole school knew where he was headed in his rush or not.  
  
The birds that hadn't flown south yet were still twittering in the trees, and the sunlight still caught the reddish highlights in his hair, making it look purple. He couldn't keep his cloak from billowing behind him, and anyone who had cared to look would have thought he was a small version of Snape, with longer, washed hair. His bare feet weren't noticeable in the grass, and the only indication that they were otherwise was the fact that they were, indeed, naked was the slight silver flash of his silver toe- ring.  
  
The pitch was starting to loom up ahead of him as he marched nearer to it. He was closest to the Ravenclaw stands, the blue color calming to see. The figure who was flying started a spectacular dive, and he moved faster. There was no one standing at the refreshment stand, no loud screaming of the crowd. There was not a game going on at the moment. It would just be the flying forgotten and him. He knew that he had not really spoken to this person in all the days since his return. In fact, he had never really seen him since the Welcoming Ball. His more than perfect eyesight caught a glimpse of green among the blackness of the robe. Harry pulled open the door to the Ravenclaw stands, and started to walk the patchwork of the interior of the pitch. He climbed the staircases, letting his feet slap the surface, as a sort of warning to his solitary pursuit.  
  
He stepped out into the sunshine again, eyes nearly immediately adjusting to the brightness of the sun. He watched the figure cover some laps before formally announcing his company. He really was a good flyer. Of course, restricted to use the broomstick, so he of course would look awkward to the sylvan eye. Harry smiled when he remembered how he had been on the broom. His firebolt. He had been fast, but had never really had the grace his companion did. He had always been awkward, though he didn't know it. His body just couldn't get used to the idea that it had to rely on something else. Harry figured it was time to call in the flyer.  
  
"Hello out there!" He shouted, his cupped hands forming around his mouth.  
  
The boy looked startled, then looked over his shoulder dumbly. Harry smiled and waved in large circles. The boy shot towards him, jetting through the air. Harry walked down to the front row to meet him.  
  
"What are you doing here?" The surprise had shot what was normally in Draco's voice out of it.  
  
"I wanted to watch." Harry said, a slight air of quiet surprise in his tone.  
  
"If you came here to watch, why did you call me back to you?" Draco asked, the usual drawl not there. Harry smiled.  
  
"You really are smart, I hope you know that." Harry sat down in the stands, and motioned for Draco to do the same. "So why exactly is it that you're out here while everyone else is inside in class?" Harry asked innocently. Draco went a bright red.  
  
"I - um, that is -"  
  
"It's okay, you can tell me. I'm not an angel, you know."  
  
"I'm skipping out on Transfiguration." Draco explained, staring at his hands.  
  
"I don't care. She can be very strict and boring most of the time. Although, I must admit that I would have skipped Snape's. But, she is, after all, the Head of House for Gryffindor. I can see the reasons for that." Harry nonchalantly reassured him. Draco visibly relaxed.  
  
There was a small silence as Draco pondered what exactly he could say. He had felt his father's presence leave his head; the shock must have been too much for him. Harry liked that idea.  
  
"I don't know what to say to you; we've never met like this before." He finally said.  
  
"Perhaps you could say something you've never said before." Harry suggested, looking out over the field. They were sitting in the stands.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Harry looked at him, his lips twitching upward in a small smile.  
  
"Tell me something I didn't know already." Harry's voice was deep and beautiful to listen to, like a clarinet playing it's lowest notes.  
  
"How can I? I don't know what you do know; but I can tell you things I know you already know, so that you know I know them too. Did you catch that?" There was a glint in Draco's eye.  
  
"Of course I did. Carry on."  
  
"I know that your friend, Ron Weasley, I know that his family is doing great now that his dad got the job of Minister. I know that he is a very good Keeper and should try out for the team, something he never did while you were still here because he didn't have the confidence to be on the level of Keeper that was the same as you with Seeker. I know that his older brother Charlie is being estranged from the family because he chose to be one of the Grey Wizards. I know that I feel empathy for him. I know that Ron's not so bad as my father makes him out to be. And I know that he and Granger weren't a good couple, but shouldn't have broken up."  
  
Harry nodded for Draco to continue.  
  
"I know that Hermione Granger is extremely smart, but won't get a lot of credit for it simply because her family isn't pureblood. I know that she misses Ron, and can't help but think about them getting back together. I know that she never really fit in with the other girls because she was too practical for makeup and hair secrets. I know that she wishes she had more female friends than just Ginny, and I know that she's closer to Ron than she had ever thought she would be. I know that she is changing as she gets older, boys are realizing that she is a girl, and that she doesn't know what to say to them when they start hitting on her out of the blue. I know that she was your mental and emotional comrade, simply because she was more in tune with things like that than Ron has ever been. I know she missed you terribly while you were away, and that she waited too long for your letters. I know she was in danger, I know that you knew she was in danger. But there's one thing I don't know." He paused, wondering how to say it. "I don't know why you called on me to save her."  
  
"I have to tell you some things that I know now." Harry looked at his hands, then turned his magnificent eyes to Draco. "I know that you have never been able to have your own opinions. I know that you are a fighter for the one thing you believe. I know that your mother was never really the sheltering type. I know that your father was never one to hit you for punishment; I know that you never needed to be punished. I know that you have always done what he has told you, and I know that you wish you could be any other way.  
  
"I know that he controls you.  
  
"I know that you don't know why you can talk to me like this today." Harry finished, a piece of hair coming out of the braided hairstyle he wore today. Draco tucked it behind his pointed ear.  
  
"I know that you know more than people give you credit for." He whispered to Harry.  
  
"I know that you are never what you seem." Harry breathed.  
  
"I know that I'll miss you." Draco whispered again.  
  
It was one of those moments that artists will always wish they could capture. Harry's eyes were warm and understanding; his beautiful skin glistening in the sun, hair shining a slight purple. Draco's eyes were soft, and thoughtful; his pale skin shone like a pearl, hair reflecting an icy shade. It was one of those moments that was wonderful and crushing. It was one of those moments when the world didn't seem to care that these two were "sworn enemies." It was not to last.  
  
The coldness came back into his eyes and Draco jerked away from his companion and - dare I say - friend. He narrowed his eyes.  
  
"If you will excuse me, I have to be doing something much more important to do than sit here and talk to you. I'll go and do some more pointless laps, and then I have potions to attend." Draco stood, his nose in the air, and mounted his broom.  
  
Harry quickly got up and started the descent to the ground. It didn't seem to take as long as the journey upward did. He had an appointment to get to soon. There were things he needed to set in order.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry quickly walked down the dimly lit hallway. Whenever he had been in the Ministry building, he had never seen good lights. He actually preferred it that way. It was harder for the wizards to watch him. It also didn't bring out the slight imperfections of his face. It was more idealistic to have dim lighting than florescent lights. It gave the building an earthy, rich feel. He was flanked on both sides by Eldrid and Lemagne. They had both never been in here, and were discreetly observing everything as though they had a curious interest, but it wasn't as great as it really was. They were carrying a sign up sheet, each armed with a quill pen and ink bottle. Harry pushed open the doors to the auditorium, and felt all heads turn to him in interest. He walked to the podium, Mr. Weasley having just given the introduction speech. Mr. Weasley smiled at the trio, and started to politely clap as Harry stepped onto the stage, his entourage standing quietly behind him, trying desperately not to draw the attention of the audience (the sylphs found the rapt attention of the more mortal wizards disconcerting.) Harry decided it was wise to begin soon.  
  
"I know none of you know who I am; I also know that every one of you knows who I am. That is not what is important, simply because of the fact that infamousness is not the reason I came here. I will not introduce myself, Arthur already did that job well. I am not one to beat around the bush; I must get down to business. I am here to talk to you about what exactly it is we are going to do about the Dark Lord.  
  
"Every single person in this room, apart from the Ministry officials, my companions and myself, is either an Auror or an Unspeakable. We have called you to an act of duty; of course, not all of you will be needed, there must be someone to stay on the home front and protect the people. We will only be needing four of you. To be precise, we will be needing two Aurors and two Unspeakables. You will only be chosen if you volunteer. We do not wish to force you into anything. Most of you will want to join us, however, I must express to you the gravest of warnings.  
  
"I will not express what it is we will be needing of you. Secrecy is the only way to success in this plan. Only a handful of people know exactly what it is that you will be doing; I am one of them. None of these select few know, except me and my council, and so why would you think that we would decree this information to a full room of people, only four of whom will actually be privy to the plan. Through your training you will know that information is the thing that could make a plan fall through the sewer. So I don't think that it's really important for you to know the gruesome details.  
  
"There are a few things you must know before you leave this meeting. You will need to audition to make it through the cut. Aurors and Unspeakables will be interviewed on different days, as well as audition on two other days. There will be several openings, the Aurors will be interviewed on one day, the Unspeakables the next, then there will be another set of days for interviews. Those who made ti through the interviews will receive a day for an audition. You will be excused frorm normal duty for the days. You will all wait in the hotel Racue, auditions could take as long as a month, or as short as four days.  
  
"I should introduce my associates. On your left is Lemagne, and your right is Eldrid. They will be the people you sign up with at the back, and I will also have another set of days and interview slots. I encourage all those of you without family to sign up, and those of you who have family to consider this thoroughly. When you have made your decision, if you decide to go for it, you will find sign up sheets on the billboard closest to your wing. Your only deadline is October 25, the week before your interviews begin. Remember this, but I understand that some people are slightly absentminded, so we have posted the information I have just told you on the sign up sheets. We will contact you if you have made the cut. If you don't, have this reassurance. You have been lucky enough to be allowed to live that much longer, and brave enough to give it up. Thank you, give us a minute to set up."  
  
Harry led Eldrid and Lemagne to the table set up for them at the back as a murmur arose from the crowd. They were glad there was not a mob trying to sign up, it made their job slightly easier. There weren't too many wizards keen to sign up for something they had no idea of the effort it would take. But they got at least 50 Aurors and at least 20 Unspeakables right off the bat (there were fewer Unspeakables total, simply because Aurors were the more public of the two defensive groups; few wizards knew what an Unspeakable did, so the Unspeabables that were hired and trained by the Ministry were the most expert and intelligent of the lot.). There was definate hesitation in those who did sign up, and only a few were confident. The sylphs made notes in their mind about these people; they weren't cautious, and caution is something that must be commended in spies and war heroes. They returned to Hogwarts satisfied with the amount of people they had, knowing that it would be a hard job, figuring out who it was they would need. It would be worth it in the end.  
  
* * *  
  
"So? What is it that calls you here to France to meet this brother of yours? Last time I checked, you were both living in England. And why would you dress in such a controversial manner?" Fleur asked, after she had made sure there was no possible way anyone could eavesdrop.  
  
"I'm getting very tired of hearing about our clothes. What do they have to do with anything?" Charlie had to grind his teeth to keep himself from snapping.  
  
"Do you not know?" Fleur looked astounded.  
  
"Know what?" Sirius asked.  
  
"Oh, dear, you don't." Fleur covered her mouth.  
  
"Stop beating around the bush and spit it out!" Sirius ordered.  
  
"A few weeks ago, the week of November fourth, actually, the Veela guard was attacked." Fleur looked at her pale hands, not wanting to have to take the patient stares of the traveling men. "It is said that the Veela guard had retreated to their camp to train new recruits. A group of wizards came in the night, all dressed in grey, one sentinel said. The wizards were said to be a part of the Clan of the Grey Wizards. They slaughtered them in their sleep. There was not one survivor."  
  
There was a moment of silence. Then, when Sirius spoke it was in a deadly whisper.  
  
"Ms. Delacour, the reason we have come to France is the fact that our leader, Mr. Dunhall, was found murdured here the week of November fourth."  
  
"So you are of the Grey Wizards?"  
  
"Yes, we are." Charlie said, resting his hand on Fleur's. But Sirius had an idea, and there was no room for emotion.  
  
"Who has more evidence of the truth?" He asked, sharp black eyes piercing the Veela's younger, blue ones.  
  
"How are we to know?"  
  
"I'll ask you a few questions, and you answer to the best of your ability." He said, slowly so she'd understand him perfectly.  
  
She nodded her head in assent. Sirius prepared his questions.  
  
"How much would you say you know compared to the general wizarding public?"  
  
"A lot more. When you own a hotel and pub, you hear things, a lot of things, that other people aren't privy to."  
  
"Did the sentinel have a story as to how he escaped when no one else did?"  
  
"If he did, it is not clear to my memory."  
  
"Would your customers have talked about the story?"  
  
"Yes, and I was confused when they didn't."  
  
"Did the sentinel say he saw these grey-clad wizards?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Was the sentinel in uniform?"  
  
"Yes, a very tattered uniform. I remember that clearly."  
  
"Was the attack at night or during the day?"  
  
"Night."  
  
"If he was able to see someone thoroughly dressed in camouflage greys in the middle of the night, is it possible that they saw him in his full red Veela uniform?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"If you were to attack the Veela guard with the intention to kill, would you kill the sentinel you know saw you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How were the bodies attacked?"  
  
"With short swords."  
  
"About how many men did the sentinel view?"  
  
"Around twelve."  
  
"About how many soldiers were in the Veela guard?"  
  
"Around 300, including recruits."  
  
"Was the water heavily guarded?"  
  
"No. It was the reunion of many soldiers and everyone was in a good mood because they were back together and welcoming new recruits."  
  
"Would it not have been easier to slip poison into all the water the day before, so that poison would be in all foods made?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Could they defend poison easily once administered?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"The one thing the Veelan guard lacked in was medicinal strategies and nurses."  
  
"So they would have been pretty much defenseless?"  
  
"I guess so, yes."  
  
"But the sentinel was sure it was short knives?"  
  
"Yes, he said he heard the screams at his back as he ran until daybreak."  
  
"If the first to die had screamed, how long would it take the guard to arm themselves?"  
  
"Ten minutes at most."  
  
"So it would have been around 250 (not including the new recruits) to between twelve and twenty?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"The sentinel was sure he was the only survivor?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Was the crime scene ever publically photographed?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Interesting." Sirius rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Charlie took all this in stride, analyzing it quickly and efficiently for future reference.  
  
"How does that compare with your version of things?" Fleur queried, openly curious. She had never heard this side of the story, and was eager to be informed. This was the most delicious conversation she had had in a long time. It was intense with import, giving the air a taste of despiracy she had never felt before. The graveness of the things she was being told made her spine tingle in rapt attention. She had the feeling she was part of an epic.  
  
"Our leader, Mr. Dunhall was found strangled the very same week that they claim the Veela guard was slaughtered. We all saw the body, we all saw him creamated. We all saw the blue veins sticking out around the edges of his skin, telling us that he was strangled in his sleep. We all saw his lifeless eyes, we all saw the stillness of his chest. We, that is, three hundred people saw it. Is there any evidence to the aliveness of him? No." Sirius said, taking Fleur into gossip heaven.  
  
"And you will not repeat anything we told you to anyone else." Charlie repremanded sternly, recognizing the gleam in her eye.  
  
"Of course not. You have my word. Besides, it is not wise to anger traveling spies. I will do as you wish, or rather, not do as you don't wish." She grumbled, looking down at the table.  
  
They were all surprised by the squeaking of the door, but before Sirius and Charlie drew their swords, they saw tiny fingers curl around the door's edge.  
  
"Mommy, what are you doing in here with these men?" A sleepy little boy mumbled in the sweetest voice possible for someone of his age.  
  
"We're just talking. This is Charlie, I knew him from the days of the Tournament, and his friend Sirius. They just got here and I wanted to talk to them alone for a while so I took them in here." Fleur explained as the boy came into the light of the room, rubbing his eyes and clutching a little stuffed dog. Fleur lifted him into her lap and wiped at his eyes. She kissed his forehead before asking, "Why did you need me? Did the big black bird scare you again?"  
  
"No, mum, it wasn't that. Only the big man was making so much noise that he woke me up from my nap. He was yelling for you and when you didn't come, and when I came down to tell him to stop making so much noise, he woke me up, he started yelling at me that he wanted you. So I said I'd go find you, and when I couldn't find you in any other room, I thought you'd be in here, so I came in." The boy said, telling his story in quiet little French.  
  
"Oh hon, I'm sorry, it shouldn't happen again, these friends are really important for me." She smoothed his chocolate hair away from his face, kissed his forehead, and excused herself from the two stunned Grey Wizards and rushed out to the hall.  
  
"I'm sorry. I just met up with some very old friends, and we didn't want to be bothered, so I put silencing and stifling charms on the room. It wouldn't happen again; I only get to see them very rarely." She babbled in French to the grim, angry man who was waiting for her.  
  
"I don't care. I just want to get checked in here as quickly as possible. I don't need to sit here and listen to your pathetic excuses about 'old friends' and I don't need to hear 'it won't happen again' because I won't be checking in here again after the poor service I have received thus far!" He snarled, teeth gnashing together in a nasty way.  
  
"I said I was sorry, and that is no way to treat a hostess, mister." She reprimanded him, by now opening the guestbook and grabbing the quill out of the ink.  
  
"YOU, young lady, could hardly be considered a hostess, you are far too young to be a madame, and your poor little illegitimate child shouldn't have to make up for your laziness. I'll have to stay here for one week at the latest, and I will not be here very often. Not that I'd want to be. This is a cheap place for the amount of repute it has. I am disgusted that I have to stay here with people like YOU." He growled, dropping his suitcase with a loud thud.  
  
"I need your name, sir." She said quietly, not wanting to get dragged into an argument in front of her son, who was still rubbing his eyes.  
  
"Jacob Randall. And another thing, has anyone told you that the rustic look is out of style? This place is hardly up to par with the great hotels like the Leaky Cauldron and the Concierge. I don't understand how you could possibly maintain your guests with this place. It's filthy. A dump. Oh, wait, I know, you use that veela attraction, don't you? That's great, just great, not only is this a dump, it's a brothel as well. I'll advise you to be careful with your sexual exploits because, madamoiselle, you wouldn't want to have to look after another babe with the slow income you must be living off of. I feel sorry for you. You can't update things as they are, simply because you need all the money you can get to feed the two mouths you're looking after as is. God, you'll be out of business by next fall." The guest ranted on, oblivious to the elongating of her nose into a menacing beak, her eyes turning from their sapphire blue to a deep, enraged red.  
  
"Why are you even HERE? I apologize to you, and all you can do is insult. You say you HAVE to stay here, but I suppose you don't HAVE to, if I THROW you out myself! What is with you? You act as though you owned the world, assuming what you will about me! Half of it is true! My son is illegitimate, but as I was RAPED I don't suppose you could have any sympathy for me! Oh no, I am a cheap slut that will do anything just to get my paws on more cash, to add to my million dollar bank account, just so that I can feed myself and my son! I am sick to death of your complaining, I can't stand it, and if you don't like this place so much, I must ask you to leave!" The man looked as though he was going to start stuttering. "LEAVE!!" she screamed, thrusting her hand to point to the door. "OUT! GET OUT, NOW, BEFORE I CALL FOR THE POLICE!"  
  
The man held up his hands in defense, his shoulders coming up to meet, his neck, his mouth open, and with that, he took one step back.  
  
There was a silence as he stayed. Fleur came back to her human form, taking deep breaths to calm herself, her fingers curling on the podium. The man was going to speak again.  
  
"I'm sorry. I didn't know . . . I'm sorry . . ." His shoulders started to shake, and he broke down in front of the three stunned adults, the child had run away a long time ago, seeing his mother turn evil. "I've just had the roughest day. I'm bitter even when at my best, and I'm not now, I'm the worst I've ever been. Do you know that I've had three airport delays in the past week? I've been waiting to fly to France for two weeks, and when I finally got here, they had lost all my baggage in a mix up with a flight to Peru, it was raining in Paris, and I had to walk all the way here because cab drivers wouldn't take a foreigner this far. That's it! I'm quitting my job! I can't do this; I can't write travel articles, I can't review hotels and food and restaurants and museums and tourist attractions! I just want to move back to Chicago and curl up in bed and never get out!" He sobbed.  
  
Fleur extended her arms to him, cooling down quickly. She hugged him, and whispered something in his ear, calming him down.  
  
"Please know that tomorrow I will probably love this place. You won't have to be around me for long, I write for travelors, you know, the stuff in travel pamphlets? I write that. So I'll be gone for long periods of time during the day. You won't have to put up with my mood swings." He muttered into her shoulder.  
  
"Don't worry. I suffer mood swings myself. I know how to handle people like that." She smiled at him as he looked up at her. "Now why don't you come with me, and I'll show you to your room?"  
  
He smiled slowly, his face cracking around it. "I'd like that."  
  
* * *  
  
Sirius and Charlie sat in the pub part of Fleur's motel. Around them, at least thirty current guests and residents of the city had gathered. They laughed loudly together, ignoring the two grim men sitting together in a booth. They were silent, watching as Fleur gave ale after ale to Jacob Randall, and they watched as he became more and more at home with the intoxicating Veela. Her little dark haired son walked around, watching the older guests, picking out the ones that he thought his mother should watch out for. They found out his name was Bo, and he was a solemn little boy, who was always watching out for his mother. They didn't have a reason for this activity. They didn't know why yet, but they were drawn to the boy. He was too tired, too adult, and too wary for a normal child. Even the little boys of the other Grey Wizards were more exciteable than this. He couldn't be older than two, but, as Fleur explained, he had her gift for language. He was always trying to learn new words, and when her guests got drunk, he learned words that weren't nesessarily what she would want him to know. They watched him through the night, and only went to bed when they could no longer keep their tired bones sitting up.  
  
* * *  
  
Fleur disappeared immediately the next morning with Jacob. She wanted to show him around. In her place, she left a young waitress. Sirius and Charlie decided it was best to disappear as well, so they could look for their good friend Bill.  
  
The market was set up again. It was the first thing they saw when they stepped outside. Sirius went back to the music craftsman's stand, to see if the little flute was still there. To his annoyance, it wasn't. He grumbled to himself, and the only words Charlie could discern were "little children" and something about "no experience." He smiled. They idly wandered the small wizarding town, taking in what little sights they could see and watching the few people that took notice of them. When the people noticed them watching them watch them, they quickly covered their faces and scampered off. Sirius would smirk, and Charlie would laugh.  
  
All of a sudden, they heard a great commotion near the gate.  
  
"But you know that my brother and Sirius are here! You let them in!"  
  
"Ah cannot let you iin iif you can't tell me ze 'otel zey aare staying at!"  
  
Charlie and Sirius pushed through the crowd, moving toward the old gatekeeper.  
  
"Excuse me, sir, but you must remember us, you let us in only yesterday," Charlie demanded as he came up to the old man, "this is the brother we were talking about! You must let him in!"  
  
"Oh! You are ze brothair? ZE brothair?" The old man questioned sinisterly.  
  
"Yes, I'm the brother. I'm THE brother!" Bill shouted from outside.  
  
"Ah will nevair undairstand you Eenglish. Come iin." The gate was opened, and a very frazzled looking Bill stood there. He quickly walked in, just in case the barmy old man changed his mind.  
  
"You won't believe what I've been through." He muttered as Sirius and Charlie took him back to the Vendredi Rouges to check in. "I feel like I've been through a hurricane!"  
  
It was at that moment that a white snowy owl flew down and delivered a letter to Sirius. He looked at his two companions, they nodded, and so he opened the letter.  
  
To Sirius and Charlie,  
  
I need to meet with you. In fact, I need to meet with all of your people. Can you gather them from the eight corners of the earth by January 17th, the next year? I will meet with them on the Northern island of the Scottish Outer Hebrides. It is too dangerous to explain what will be done in this letter, for fear of interception. All will be explained on that date.  
  
Thank you, I know this is semi-late notice, Harry  
  
Sirius looked up.  
  
"Boys, we've got our work cut out for us." He said solemnly.  
  
*********************************^*********************************  
  
A/N: Whew! I finally finished it! I'll probably go back and rewrite this chapter, you know, add more of Harry's end of the story, but for now, it's okay. I'm very proud of myself. I wrote Sirius in character! For a whole bunch of pages!  
  
Anyway, in light of coming events, i.e., the fifth book FINALLY coming out, this story is now officially changed to AU (not that it wasn't almost there anyway . . .). I will keep writing this, even though everything that happened in the chapters thus far is, indeed, not true due to the actual fifth year being published. I don't want to give this story up quite yet, and it's not through with me either, so we have come to the mutual agreement that this will remain a work in progress. Thank you very much. On to the reviews! 


	15. Chapter 15: Interview with a Traitor

Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)  
  
Rating: Very meek PG-13  
  
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)  
  
Warning: This story might include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Until I can finish writing the sylvan language, I will be forced to use the closest thing to it; J.R.R. Tolkien's elvish. Please understand that I didn't write it, or else I'd be much more financially endowed than I currently am. Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.  
  
Chapter 15:  
Interview With a Traitor  
  
Triskele wandered around the halls of Hogwarts, contemplating his position there, when she noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the old bat man was following her. He decided to keep walking. Perhaps they were just going in the same direction. She whistled to himself, steps slapping noiselessly against the ground. He played with her hair, and whistled a tune. Professor Snape was still behind him.  
  
It was then that Triskele decided she was going to play a little game with the professor. He stepped into the shadows. She walked in them for a bit, then strolled out of them on the other side. He stepped, then skipped, and stepped once more, skipping again. With a not-so-graceful spin, Triskele landed like a cat, knees bent slightly. With this stepping, skipping pattern, the sylph made her way out of the castle. Once outside, he ignored the brisk chill, and continued along her way, smiling and dancing. He started to hum an old children's song. It was whimsical, and made no sense. In fact, it was about nonsense, and when she got to the words of the little ditty, he sang in sylvan. It was then that she paused for just a moment, judging the distance of the professor. He was still following the meandering Triskele. With this, Triskele broke into a run. In a dizzy sprint, he twirled her way into a nearby field, the dead, golden grass swayed in the wind.  
  
The old professor didn't have the energy to keep up with the ageless being any longer. He slowed, coming to a jog, then an all-out stop. He'd get her sometime.  
  
* * *  
  
"That's twenty Aurors and seventeen Unspeakables. That's a manageable number." Eldrid declared, quickly counting the names on the list.  
  
"We shouldn't need more than two days to go through all of them. A lot of them we'll be able to rule some out right away." Amadeus commented, glancing over the former ruler's shoulder.  
  
"I honestly didn't think we'd get this many volunteers. I would have thought that Aurors, and Unspeakables especially, would not want to get in to something they know nothing about." Lemagne commented.  
  
"You must always remember that wizards aren't privy to the cautions the sylvan culture induces. I was never very patient with them when I lived among them." Harry smiled, watching as a group of Hufflepuffs passed them to go to the Great Hall for lunch. They sat on and around a bench that was in the central courtyard of Hogwarts. Nikiatom remained quiet, instead of speaking his every thought, she observed, basking in the sunlight.  
  
"That makes me feel so much more confident of our reasons for helping them." Amadeus sniped, rolling her eyes.  
  
"We have to help them simply because they have gotten themselves into such problems as these, that it can only be attributed to our absence." Triskele snapped at him.  
  
Eldrid looked at her. "Had they not been so separated from the source of their magic for so long, the darker magic would not have been able to take over. It is entirely our fault that they get themselves into these situations."  
  
"But you could also say it was their fault for driving us away from here." Lemagne pointed out.  
  
"Oh, just choose a side! You can't straddle the fence forever." Amadeus growled.  
  
"I'm only pointing out the truth." Lemagne defended, holding up his hands.  
  
"I think we should get back to the matters at hand. Now, we're going to need to inform the hotel Racue that we will be requesting a large reservation the week of November 7-13. Does anyone think we will be needing more time than that?" After a scattering of no's, Harry resumed his speech. "Who would like to do that?" When Nikiatom gave a signal, Harry wasn't surprised, just mildly curious. "Alright then, Nikiatom will be in charge of reservations. We will all be going to the interviews, so we should set up a list of questions we will be needing to ask. Would anyone like to go first?"  
  
"Well, I have a few ideas." Eldrid started. "Well, I think we should ask them about background to any kind of defensive art. Then, I think we should ask them the nature of this form of martial defense. Is it aggressive, or passive? Is it meant for groups of attackers or just one? Have they got any experience with long journeys on foot? Do they have any qualms about flying for short stints? Are they fit? What is their body fat percentage? How often do they currently go on raids for the Ministry? I think these are very important for the physical aspects of the journey." Eldrid sat back, stretching out his feet.  
  
"Yes, they certainly seem to cover the physical aspects, but what about the mental? I think we should ask questions like 'How do you feel in a close knit group of people?'" Triskele commented.  
  
"Yes, go on, what are more questions that should be asked?" Harry queried, finishing the list of questions.  
  
"Do you have problems with sleep? Can you function under a low level of sleep? How well do you cope with groups of people? Do you need to be alone a lot, or are you okay with people for a long length of time? Do you get agitated easily when you are under stress? What do you do to rid yourself of stress? Are you terribly connected to material things? Do you know how to work together with people? Do you know how to ration yourself on food? Are you resourceful enough to get along with only a limited number of tools and whatever you may find? Did you go through any traumatizing experiences that would lead you to resurface the issues of your past?" Triskele finished.  
  
"Very good. Lemagne? Do you have any ideas?" Harry asked.  
  
"Not really, but, what about resistence to pain?" Lemagne asked, blushing. "I don't have that much experience in matters of life and death."  
  
"That's alright. Amadeus?"  
  
"How many languages can you speak? How well do you trust other people? Have you been through any extra schooling than what training you required to become a registered wizard and Unspeakable/Auror? Do you have any problems with certain spells that are useful on the road?" He listed.  
  
They turned to Nikiatom.  
  
"Well, I think it would be for the best to ask if they have family. Have you had any trouble with the law in the past? If so, what happened? How much pain are you used to going through to get a job done? Do you notice details? Do you connect details accurately and efficiently? How loyal are you? How many weapons do you carry on you at all times? How dedicated to the cause are you? Why did you sign up? What is one quality that is easily distinguished about you? Do you like to draw attention to yourself? Have you had any past conflicts with using dark power? Do you want to be high ranking socially? Do you know how to use a sword? Do you know what kind of sword the Asians use? Are you familiar with jungle battle? Are you acquainted with dodging objects flung at you? How long have you been working for the Ministry? How much of your original training do you practice? Do you like to talk? Would you spill secrets accidentally? Have you ever acted in sabotage? I think we have to drill these wizards, we don't know them the way we know other sylphs, how can we possibly know whether they are trustworthy or not? I'd be very wary of them, and I hope you will be too." Nikiatom hadn't gotten passionate over the questions that should be asked, and the last few sentences were said in a mumble.  
  
There was a slight pause as they took in the enormity of the job laid before them. Harry sighed, and thanked them, bringing them back to the moment.  
  
"I have been contacted by Sirius and Charlie, and they say that they will be getting the rest of the Clan of the Grey Wizards together to meet us on the island. They won't be bringing everyone, just those who wish for a more active part in the quest. He already has the spy network working, and they will be contacting those who won't be coming with us on the expedition here, where they will be safer. You will then contact one of the sylphs through our telepathy skills who are on the quest and need the news. There will have to be some of us who stay here at Hogwarts to observe the actions of the students and teachers. We also have to get a few sylphs to teach at the training camp for the day of the final battle. Who thinks they can gather teachers?"  
  
When no one volunteered, Nikiatom gave a slight nod.  
  
"Thank you, Nikiatom. Now, who thinks they can go on the quest?" Harry asked, looking at the Order Members.  
  
Triskele, Lemagne, and a reproachful Nikiatom volunteered.  
  
"All right. We'll figure out later who goes on which quest." Harry smiled at them all. "I am indebted to you all. It is not a very easy thing for any of you to do, of that I am sure. We will reconvine when we have all figured out what exactly it is we have on our hands. Remember, tomorrow we will meet outside the main gates tomorrow at eight o' clock. Arthur Weasley will be overseeing the interviews."  
  
They all stood to leave, each one heading in a different direction, until only Eldrid was left, looking old and bemused.  
  
* * *  
  
Nikiatom immediately went to his rooms, to gather together a flying shirt and cloak. Once she had both on, he took to the balcony and leapt off it. Hagrid's third year Care of Magical Creatures class gasped, terrified that they were seeing a suicide attempt. When her golden wings erupted from his back, there was a gasp of relief from the terrified third years, and as she flew off into the sky, they ripped their eyes from his sunlight body, going back in their minds to their class.  
  
Nikiatom had always loved flying. It was something that had been imbedded into her very soul ever since he had first seen James soar. The air was a place where she didn't have to melt into the crowds and the shadows, where there was no one to notice him and no one to care if she looked broken- hearted. He was alone with the world; and the world really didn't seem to mind much.  
  
It, of course, had been hard for her to see his dear . . . no, Nikiatom reminded himself, Harry was not his dear, yet . . . companion to be in so much pain because of the one thing that he found to be the constant in her life. That was part of the reason he had become so possessive and overbearing. It was the fact that Harry's first real experience of the world was spoilt so by the fact that he was not a purebred sylph.  
  
Oh, Nikiatom had flown a broomstick, and while one had far more capacity for speed, it was not nearly as free as the flight he was experiencing now. To fly with your own wings was satisfactorily rudimentary. And, although it wasn't exactly the smoothest way to travel, there was a far less chance you were going to fall, and certainly no way to have your flight cursed by outside opponents.  
  
It was a far strange thing for Nikiatom to comprehend, the fact that most of the world had no idea what true freedom was. To him, it was scandalous that wizards would never truly know this feeling; it was almost what made the sylphs such a compelling race. They knew what the others felt and when, and therefore could take tact to a new level. They were somewhat mind- readers, of course, and this helped them in everyday life, but their flight was when they were truly at their best. This was why they had never made a sport of it. They didn't want to mar the beauty that was already there.  
  
She had a long way to travel today. The hotel was in the isolation of the unknown mountains of Scotland, a configuration of the unchartable land to the north of Scotland, England, and Wales, wasn't as far from Hogwarts as some would think. It was still a distance to travel, and Nikiatom was starting to grow weary of the tedious, mapped flight. He did a few backflips, some turns, and some of the sylvan flying techniques, that were really just combinations of the two.  
  
It was growing darker. From this height, Nikiatom could see the sky turning a bright red, then bleeding into a darker purple. It was lucky sylphs had a full spectrum eye; Nikiatom spelled his eyes into the greatest range of vision she could. The unltraviolet rays and infrared light would be what was most helpful to him now.  
  
As soon as she saw the expansive Victorian hotel, alight with the flames of thousands of torches and candles, he dipped her wings downward to land. He pulled the hood up to cover her flax golden hair, the chill of rain in the atmosphere making him shiver, she stepped up to the massive door and banged three times.  
  
There was a clatter inside, and a few moments later, Nikiatom was met with a very flustered butler in tails holding a tray of broken margarita glasses. The dim light of the main hall burned at his eyes, and they quickly returned to the human spectrum. The butler rolled his eyes at the, perhaps dramatic, pause Nikiatom took to adjust, and he started to huff.  
  
"Now, don't stand out there in the cold. It's going to rain tonight. Get in." Nikiatom was ushered in hurriedly, before she could start to accuse the butler of being inhospitable. "What is it you want? As you can see from this broken tray, the lounge is very busy tonight, and the guests are very busy getting smashed, so I suggest you make it quick."  
  
Nikiatom finally found his voice. "Is that any way to treat a guest?"  
  
"You are no guest. That much I can tell."  
  
"How did you know I won't be staying?" Nikiatom grinned, trying to win some friendship from the unfriendly staffperson.  
  
"You don't have a beautiful wife hanging off your arm and you aren't carrying any expensive, Italian leather bags."  
  
"You are really quite the Sherlock."  
  
"Yes, yes I am." The man grumbled, shifting the tea tray. "But I don't have the time to trade comebacks with you now." How had he figured out Nikiatom was toying with him? "I'll have you off to the clerk's table, over there." With that, the irritable man was gone.  
  
For the first time, Nikiatom was able to truly admire the grand hall. There were two marble staircases leading up to the second floor, and then two more on each side to the third floor balcony, where the ancient elevator started. The carpet on the hall was a rich berry red, and the pillars to the third floor balcony were made of pink granite. This was certainly a well-to-do place, and it was large enough to be comparable with the testing that would go on here. Hopefully. Nikiatom pulled herself out of his trance. She started to the counter, where a woman in a very elegant evening gown was reading a magazine and chewing gum. She tried to blow a bubble, and the pink clashed horribly with her block red lipstick. She looked up and spit the gum out into the small wastebasket next to her.  
  
"And just what is it you were bothering poor Victor with?" She asked, pulling up her black, elbow-length gloves.  
  
"I would like to make a reservation here. A rather large reservation." He said, leaning on the counter.  
  
"When for?"  
  
"The week of November 7-13."  
  
"We're booked crazy that week. I'm afraid that we may not have a lot of rooms. Tell me, will it just be you or a party?"  
  
"There will be a party of around twenty. Are you sure that you'll be booked?"  
  
"Twenty! We can't do that, it's far too many people. Are you sure you can't all just squeeze in two suites?"  
  
"No, we will all need separate rooms." The woman's eyes widened.  
  
"I'm sorry, but we can't do that. Even a hotel of this size is far too small for that, along with the other rooms being occupied."  
  
"Couldn't you get different families and travelors to share a room?" Nikiatom asked, her eyes widening to match the clerk's.  
  
"I'm afraid we can not. This is on too short notice. You will just have to harbor all of these guests somewhere else."  
  
"But they need to come here."  
  
"But we don't have the room." Her voice was very deadly.  
  
"You have to have the room."  
  
"But we don't have the room, so it's no longer any of your concern, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She was standing to her full height, stillettos and all.  
  
"I don't want to make a scene." Nikiatom whispered.  
  
"How can you not expect to make a scene when you come in here talking crazy talk like that? We simply can not comply with your wishes!"  
  
"You can and you will comply with my wishes." Nikiatom glowered.  
  
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave at once." She said, heatedly pointing at the door.  
  
"You don't want me to leave." He told her, and she was lost.  
  
"Don't tell me what I do and don't want to do! That's my job! And I am telling you to leave!"  
  
"I can't leave until I get these rooms."  
  
"Leave!"  
  
"Just let me talk to the manager."  
  
"Leave!"  
  
"I will not leave until you tell me how many rooms are open for visitors that week!"  
  
"I will not tell you that information! It is confidential, and very personal to the guests!"  
  
"Tell me!"  
  
"NO!" she screamed, then "LEAVE!"  
  
"NO!"  
  
By now, the grouchy butler was back.  
  
"Sir, I'm going to escourt you out . . ."  
  
"You are not going to escourt me out! This is important! It is very grave that this is done!"  
  
"If it is so grave, why don't you stop wasting your time here and leave to go find another hotel?" The woman sneered.  
  
"This is a matter between the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Sylphs! I demand to be listened to!" He screamed.  
  
Nikiatom was the only one to hear the heels coming down the marble staircase.  
  
"Now, now, dear Roxie, what is all the screaming about?" Came the snobbish voice of the hotel's owner.  
  
"This man is demanding to have at least twenty rooms reserved for the week of November 7-13. I told him it was impossible, and he never once believed me. When he started to make a scene, I told him to leave, and he refused until he got the reservation." Roxie explained with a far too angelic look on her face.  
  
"Oh, Roxie, play nicely with the guests. I don't remember how many times I've told you to come to me in a situation like this." By now the manager was halfway down the staircase, still taking his leisurely time. He wore an expensive Armani tuxedo and wore his long, platinum blonde hair back in a low ponytail. He oozed aristocracy, one hand resting on the banister, the other on the snake cane he carried with him everywhere. His sharp blue eyes seemed to make Roxie and the irritated butler writhe under their skins for the condensation in them.  
  
"Did you listen to what this fine," Here his eyes swept over Nikiatom's travel worn clothes and beaten hair. "gentleman has to say?" He sneered the word gentlemen, placing irony on it.  
  
"I'm a representative of the Order of the Sylphs and the Ministry of Magic, here to reserve the hotel specifically for our needs for that week." Nikiatom's chest puffed out, dignity won over the slimy Malfoy.  
  
"Oh, that. I was wondering if someone would show up again." The Malfoy was on the red rug, striding toward Nikiatom.  
  
Nikiatom didn't let it phase him. He took it in stride, keeping her dignity and not showing any surprise.  
  
"Your leader set things up a week ago. I do hope this hasn't caused you any trouble." The Malfoy mocked, his voice quiet, yet commanding attention.  
  
"No trouble at all, sir Malfoy. This was a test to see what your staff would reveal to me. I must say that they did rather well. If I hadn't known anything before I came here, I would have left knowing nothing. These really are fine people you have working for you." Nikiatom smiled. The Malfoys were so purebred in the wizard department, they had no sylvan blood, not even a smudge, and so he would never know of Nikiatom's surprise. "I will be leaving now. Thank you."  
  
It was exactly that moment the storm broke, and a deluge of rain could be heard from outside.  
  
"You are very pretty. Put your hood down, dear." When Nikiatom didn't, the Malfoy put it down for him, letting his fingers brush her cheek. "Ah, there you are." The Malfoy's fingers remained at his face. "But you are amazing. You must be a sylph. Pity it's raining. Am I right in assuming you flew here?" Nikiatom nodded, and in doing so, backed up, away from the intruding hand. "I'm right about a lot of things."  
  
The Malfoy turned around and slinked up toward the stairway again. "My name is Ozias Malfoy, but I'm sure you already knew I was a Malfoy. I would stay, but it is such a pity that tonight happens to be the pureblood's annual gala. I must get back to it. Victor, give the pretty thing room two hundred and thirty six for the night, free of charge, and a clean set of extra pyjamas. I really must be going."  
  
After Ozias left, Victor disappeared into a separate room for a while, then came out with a bundle for Nikiatom, and motioned for the sylph to follow him.  
  
Victor took Nikiatom up to the third floor, where they had to pass through the gala crowd. A small jazz band was playing in the corner of the room. They consisted of a string bass, a piano, a tenor saxophone, a clarinet, and a turmpet. Their jazz singer was a sultry brunette with a twenties' bob and a deep, cigarette-and-whiskey alto voice. All the men were dressed up in Muggle tuxes, and all the women were wearing Chanel's Little Black Dress. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco standing with his father.  
  
"Uncle Ozias! Hello!" He heard the boy say.  
  
He was free for the night.  
  
Victor led him down a dimly lit hallway, pureblood wizard couples wandering from the (no doubt dull) gala. Victor gave him a rusty, antique key once they had reached room 236 and bustled off to his other duties. Nikiatom strolled in, threw her cloak down onto the bed, took off his shoes.  
  
As she looked around the room, he couldn't help but wonder how they tried so hard to make this place look rich. The carpet was white, and the bedsheets were made of a fluffy, chintzy, royal red cloth. There were at least ten pillows on the bed, each adding a different hint of the '40's block red lipstick color. About ten feet from the bed, there were two black leather couches, surrounding the wizard equivalent of a big-screen TV and numerous CD players, radios, and tape decks. Ten feet from the couches was a counter. Nikiatom went to explore it more thoroughly.  
  
It was obviously a kitchen, with a black stovetop, microwave, sink, and oven. They were all by the same company, and they were all the same year. 1999. Nikiatom picked up a pear from the fruit basket on the black table, and, after sampling it, found it to be the opposite of ripe, threw it into the trash can. She felt this place to be too rich for much of the humble sylph comfort level. With a shudder, he perceived a calling to leave the room, and she was all too happy to have an excuse to go.  
  
The sounds of the jazz band were soothing to his ears, the clarinet's solo washing over him as the smooth instrument sang. She hid behind a large plant, so as not to draw too much attention to himself, the uninvited wallflower. She watched the purebloods laugh together in groups, none of them really listening to the music, none of them really caring that they could be dancing. There were a few romantic couples in the corner, but they were far off to the side, and not really inspiring any furthering of the pastime. Nikiatom heard footsteps behind him.  
  
"Hello." It was Draco Malfoy. Nikiatom turned to meet him.  
  
"Hello yourself."  
  
"Would you mind terribly much dancing with me? My father wants me to look like I'm trying to find a future wife, but to be quite frank with you, I'm getting sick of the poncy pureblood girls here." Draco rolled his eyes at the crowd, and Nikiatom smiled.  
  
"Of course I'll dance with you."  
  
Draco took her out to the dance floor, and they started an easy swing. After a while, conversation became accepted, and they eased into it.  
  
"You're different tonight." Nikiatom began, searching the younger Malfoy's face.  
  
"It's the jazz. It makes me relax." That was a blatant lie, and Nikiatom knew it. He sifted through her partner's mind, and came up with the answer. I'm not under my father's spell. Nikiatom's eyes asked a question, and Draco nodded slightly. They broke eye contact, and Draco restarted the conversation.  
  
"You're a sylph, aren't you? I remember seeing you around the castle, and you're too beautiful to be anything but." Nikiatom nodded.  
  
"I just can't believe that Pot-Harry is your monarch. It was far too hard for me to take in that he even was a sylph."  
  
"Well, I can see how it would be unexpected." Nikiatom tentatively answered.  
  
The song was over, and the next one was fast and loose. There wasn't much room for conversation, so they merely enjoyed each other's responses to the dance.  
  
Nikiatom watched Draco's eyes. He could tell the confidence was a façade. His focus was everywhere around the room, and every once in a while, their moves would be confused, and Draco would shake himself, force himself to concentrate on what he was doing. Nikiatom knew what it is the boy watched. He watched his uncle. It was a curious development that would have to be observed. She could never truly read his mind; if the doorways to be found in other minds were closed to the sylphs, they were not supposed to be open. For the moment, this was not something Nikiatom was to know unless Draco chose for him to know. And, as the boy (young man, really) had no idea that Nikiatom could pry into his mind, he could not open it to his dance partner.  
  
The song ended, and Draco said he needed to get some water. Nikiatom nodded, and, sensing their comaraderie was not over, stayed where he was.  
  
"We meet again, sir sylph."  
  
Nikiatom turned to see Ozias Malfoy strolling toward him, nursing a glass of champagne and swaying slightly. In the background, she saw Victor put something in a drink.  
  
"I do not see why you feel the need to call me 'sir.' I am not male, a noble, or knighted by your king."  
  
"Surely you have to be of some repute." Ozias smirked. "To come to a gala such as this you have to have some connection to power."  
  
"Why would you think that I didn't crash the party?"  
  
"You came here from the order of the sylphs. You must have some great title." Ozias sipped his drink.  
  
"Not as such. And we don't give titles anyway."  
  
"Oh, well, what is your relationship with your king, Liamh?" He mocked.  
  
"I am his comrade." Nikiatom whispered.  
  
"Be that as it may, it makes me wonder what you think it is about you that allows you to be here without having to suffer the consequences. Your 'title' must have gone to your head." Ozias sneered down his nose at the sylph, who looked back to the hall to his room. She turned to leave, but felt a light grip on his shoulders.  
  
"What's the rush? You can not honestly be frightened by me. I am a mere wizard, and you, you are a sylph, one of those otherworldly creatures that is beginning to really grate on my nerves. You can be wherever you want, and all the wizards will accept you with open arms."  
  
"I was just going back to my room; why should I stay when I was never welcomed here?" Nikiatom whispered, eyes down on the hand that had slipped from her shoulder to his arm.  
  
"Hear this. You don't have everyone under your spell. I've been watching the little rondezvous between your kind and the rest of that pathetic council ever since I found out you would be returning to the world of the mortal world. I am not fooled by the tranquility of your race, and, as one raised in a family of rats, I admit it is easier for me to spot one when I see it. Stay, if you still feel worth the show."  
  
With a last glare, Ozias turned back to whom he had been talking to.  
  
Draco had watched this exchange with a calculating gaze. He snapped out of it, saw that he was still with the silver-haired sylph, and he smiled slightly.  
  
"You're lucky." He said. "Uncle Ozias can be very ruthless. There are a few things I need to tell you, the dance was only a way for me to get you to trust me. We will go to your room. Lead the way."  
  
Nikiatom turned around, quickly hiding the dazed look of her emotions. They travled down to room two hundred and thirty six, and when they reached it, Nikiatom took out the key he had pocketed and opened the door.  
  
"Oh, I see you got one of the less lavish rooms." Draco muttered, surprised. Nikiatom shrugged her shoulders, lighting a fire in the grate with magic and getting himself comfortable. She waited for Draco to start his confessions. After a few moments of gathering his thoughts, Draco looked at a patiently waiting Nikiatom, perched on the edge of a chair, and cleared his throat.  
  
"As you most likely know, my father has me under an advanced form of the Imperious Curse. It ties me to him, and him to me. Through this tie, he can control me. He looks into my mind and constantly stifles it. The Malfoys have always been very powerful, not just in society but in their innate magic as well. This fact helps my father to force half of his mind to supervise my own, and half of his mind to go about daily life. It is very rare when he puts his mind fully into what he's doing, and therefore very rare when he has allowed me to be as free as he allows me to be tonight." Draco drew in a breath.  
  
"But this spell is not, as you would expect, outlawed. It is so subtle, and, when abstracted by the right wizard's potency, impossible to detect. This spell was invented after mind-reading spells and potions were outlawed, therefore law enforcement can't use them to see just what someone's mind is doing. It would be hypocritical for the government to cast one of these spells on a subject of that government. My father saw this loophole as soon as my mother told him that I did not have a dark aura, but a light one. He cast the spell on me, and when I started to have conscious thought as a child, he would stifle me."  
  
"He never came to the realization that as he can see into your mind, you can see into his?" Nikiatom asked.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
There was a slight pause as Draco gathered all the information he had to spill and Nikiatom stood and walked to the window, standing with his back to the boy wizard.  
  
"My father is very prejudiced against the sylvan race. It is your job to tell Harry what he is getting his race into. Father accepts that you will destroy his master, but he does not have his main sights focused on Muggles anymore. He is threatened by the fact that there could possibly be a superior race above the wizards. He will try to anialate your entire population."  
  
Nikiatom turned her head sharply.  
  
"How? Do you know yet?"  
  
"He believes that if he tried to read into your minds as well, he could find the way to the entrance of your Underworld."  
  
Nikiatom did a quick scan of Draco's emotions. They all turned up as determined and honest. Another, deeper scan told him that there was something to be found in Draco's head that only a sylph could truly understand. Searching through what Draco had analyzed about himself, she saw that he didn't know that he felt the way he did. Nikiatom's eyes quickly focused back to the grim reality that was before him.  
  
"There is nothing of you that I can not trust. What else do you know?"  
  
"The Dark Lord's citadel is far away in a place that is obscure. Father is never allowed to go there. Only the least trusted of the Death Eaters are allowed access to it."  
  
Nikiatom knew why this was. Voldemort wanted to keep those who doubted him close so they couldn't contact his enemies.  
  
"There is a contact among the Free People that will be a traitor. I only know this because Father does not trust her. There is another thing that frightens the Dark Lord immensely, but it is never named. There is no way of knowing what this force is, but it is growing, and as it grows, it becomes more and more sufficient at framing what it knows to be a part of the Side of Light."  
  
"What else do you know?"  
  
"There is an unknown entity that seems to be helping both the dark side and the light. I do not know which exactly it is, but there is something out there called the Tormentors that seem to be killing off Slytherin girls. There is a lot of speculation on why this is happening, but there seem to be only far-fetched answers that can't be anywhere near the truth. I don't know what is right, and what I should do, but I passed these burdens on to someone who is more in tune with the world most of the time. Once father puts me back under the spell, I won't be able to come to you again. My time is running out; it will not be much longer before I will have to go." Draco sighed, looking down.  
  
"Do you think there is a greater power that we just don't know about?" Nikiatom asked, not bothering to invade the boy's mind again.  
  
"Yes. I believe we are all aiming for the wrong goal." Draco's silver eyes met Nikiatom's own violet.  
  
"From what I know of our resident villain, he is not as evil as we think."  
  
"Do you mean to say that there is more to You-Know-Who than meets the eye?" Draco raised his brows curiously.  
  
"As far as the senses go, the eyes are the one that is likely to be blind." She turned to the window. "I would tell you to follow your intuition, but your mind is not free enough for such abstract thought. As you said, you are controlled most of the time by the very manipulative Malfoy your father is."  
  
"It is not my destined fate to follow in my father's footsteps. My resistence to him tonight is proof of that."  
  
"Lord Voldemort was once a simple Tom Riddle. The perplexities of what brought him to the insane tyrant he is now is a story that hasn't been told, or doesn't want to be told."  
  
"How do you know this?" Draco wondered.  
  
"I have spent quite a lot of time with the girl, Ginny Weasley, and I have found out some quite interesting things about her first year here."  
  
Draco spent a moment thinking back to when that would have been. His second year, the Chamber of Secrets had been opened.  
  
"The Chamber?"  
  
"Yes. The Chamber. Apparantly, our beloved Tom's powers of manipulation follow a trend. He's been hurt, and at the state he was in, he just asked to be possessed by the creature we call Lord Voldemort."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Nikiatom sighed. Wizards were sure bothersome when they didn't care to even try to follow a sylph's train of thought.  
  
"The Chamber was opened once before at a time of darkness, as it was the time before that. Every time, there has been one of a certain inheritance to stop it. Can you honestly tell me you do not see the paralells?" He turned halfway to the boy, who had a confused look upon his face until the proverbial lightbulb went off.  
  
"Do you mean to say that there has been more than one Lord Voldemort?" A smile graced her lips as Draco asked Nikiatom the question.  
  
"Last time, his name was Grindelwald."  
  
"But what do you mean by Inheritance? Surely Professor Dumbledore and Harry are not related?"  
  
"I'm proud. You can stand to pay attention to Binns enough to listen in his class. Congratulations." Nikiatom smiled, but the amusement soon faded. "Of course they aren't. That would be far-fetched. There are ways of coming to Inheritance without being related to one another."  
  
"But I don't understand." Draco almost wailed, but his control over his voice was far too great to allow himself such a practice.  
  
"You will decide who is right, and who is diluded into thinking they are right."  
  
"It was hard to come to the conclusion to get one of the sylphs on their own and tell them this tonight. How am I supposed to figure this riddle out, especially when I don't have full control over my mind?" Draco admitted, hanging his head.  
  
"Do not fear what you are forced to be. The only thing someone in your position can do is to fight." A sudden image of a very worn Lucius Malfoy came to Nikiatom's inner eye. "Your father is growing weaker. He has lived with this dark spell all his life. Take advantage of that. It sounds like something someone in the wrong would do, to take advantage of another person's weakness, but you must resist in the most pointed way possible. Any time of war is a blur between what is right and what is wrong, but this is a war unlike any fought in the past. This is a war where the only way to win is to give away secrets to the other side and calculate their moves without their knowledge. You will play an intregal part in this tale of mystery. Fight hard, and you will eventually persevere. Don't hope for the best, because it will blind you, and make you think you will win, and not allow you to calculate your moves like you are supposed to. Instead, assume that those who will try to control you know everything about you but what you know about them. If you are not perseverent, it will be less of a challenge to come back from it."  
  
"Have you never had hope?" Draco queried, worry in his eyes for the broken person he saw before him.  
  
"I did, but it crushed me in the end." Nikiatom explained.  
  
Draco looked down at his shoes. They were scuffed from the dances he had participated in in the past. However, their faded magnificence was not lost to those who paid attention to the deeper detail. He was as they were; magnificent, but scuffed and tainted by what it was that had been allowed to roar within him. Nikiatom saw one of the most moving people he had ever met. The breaking of this Draco Malfoy had only bent him over backwards, but his spine had not yet cracked. If it did, the paralysis that would follow would be devastating to both sides. Whether they knew it or not, both the warring peoples in this crazy time wanted him to work for them. Nikiatom knew that Harry was thinking along the same lines as she was, that Draco was important. Tonight had proven that.  
  
"Your mother will start to seek you out soon." He said, walking close to the boy and laying her hand on his shoulder. "You should go, and not allow her to worry."  
  
"I suppose you're right. I wouldn't want to be questioned about where I was." Draco sighed, looking up into his face.  
  
They both turned to find the door out of Nikiatom's room for the night. Draco led the way, having long since figured out the plots of the rooms in his uncle's expensive hotel. They reached it, and Draco turned back before leaving.  
  
"How did you know you could trust me?" He inquired quickly.  
  
"You have many traits that the sylphs carry. I can predict far easier what you are feeling because you are more complicated than those you grew up with. You think like a sylph would, when in the right setting." There came a flash across Nikiatom's mind of a Draco smiling at him over the shoulder of their love as the three of them awoke one morning. "You will grow to learn things that others of your race will never begin to comprehend. You are blessed with a certain sight, though you will never get it until after your demon has been conquered."  
  
Draco's face was stony as he received such a complement. He looked down the hall in the direction of the party, and as he made a move to step back into the rooms, Nikiatom held up a hand.  
  
"Go."  
  
Draco nodded, and he went.  
  
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A/N: Okay, this chapter went . . . differently than was originally planned, but I like it, it added more. I didn't intend to write as much about Nikiatom as I did, or Draco for that matter. The only thing that matters is that it's done, written, and the next chapter should be out sooner than this one was. I'm sorry, but finals crept up on me, and they loaded me down with homework, and writing this just wasn't a priority that could make me stay away from that. It's summer now, so I will have a LOT more time to write, and I do hope to finish it, so it is now very much a priority.  
  
Reviews:  
  
katrina: I had fun writing the interlude with Harry/Draco, that was just too fun. Much more of Draco in this chapter, hope you liked!  
  
Rain, TwistedLogic, and julie: Thank you for reviewing! As you can see, I did write more, and will be for a while!  
  
Jaded*Secrets: I know. I hope the stuff I've been following doesn't get cancelled, because I don't know what I'd do. Probably become an angry flamer and scream at authors that I want to know what happens . . . though, that might be kinda mean . . . Anyway, you can count on the fact that I'm not giving up on this fic yet, after all, they made it to Ron and Hermione's sixth year, so I might as well just finish.  
  
Sashi- I don't know whether I've replied to your review yet or not, so here goes. I've been planning to rewrite it since I started writing it, and I've taken everything you said into consideration. Thank you for the constructive criticism. 


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